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Cfje Hibrarp 

of tfje 

^anitjerfiitp of i^ortfj Carolina 

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Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2012 with funding from 

University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 

(see page 487.) 





For Young Folks 



Part II., May, 18S5, to October, 18S5. 



Copyright, 18S5, by The Century Co. 

Press of Theo. L. De Vinne & Co. 
New- York. 




Six Months — May, 1885, to October, 1885. 



-Esthetes, The. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Helen Gray Cone 5SS 

Alibazan. Verses. (Illustrated and engrossed by R. B. Birch) Laura E. Richards 4S7 

Ambitious Ant, The. Jingle -I. R. Wells 645 

Among the Law-makers. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) Edmund Alton 537 

613. 7°^, 777, SS3, 945 

Animal Painter, An. Picture, drawn by J. C. Beard SS5 

Animal Traps and Trappers. (Illustrated by J. C. Beard, Alice Beard, I r T , „ . , 

and J. M. Nugent) " j C ' J '~ JJo ' dl ' r 52 5 

Anxious Moment, An. Picture, drawn by Jessie Curtis Shepherd 5S6 

Bathmendi. Poem. (Illustrated by Henry Sandham) H. H. (Helen Jackson) 50S 

Battle of the Third Cousins, The. (Illustrated) Frank R. Stockton S09 

Beethoven Agatha Tunis 760 

Berry and Fish Story, A Lizzie Chase Deering 606 

Bonnie Jean. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) N. IV. 816 

Brownies and the Spinning-wheel, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the? „ , „ 

Author) .... J A*™- 0* 52I 

Brownies at School, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox 920 

Brownies at the Sea-side, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) . Palmer Cox 763 

Busy World, The Margaret Eytinge 5S6 

Butterflies, The. Poem. (Illustrated by H. P. Share) Ellen .1/. //. Gates 599 

By THE Sea. Picture, drawn by Albert E. Sterner 852 

Cased in Armor. ( Illustrated by J. C. Beard) . ... John R. Coryell 60S 

Children of the Cold, The. (Illustrated by W. Taber) Lieut. Frederick Sclvwatka . . 513 

625, 696, 7S6, S64 

Circus Clown's Dream, The. Verses. (Illustrated) Joel Stacy 949 

Clotilda of Burgundy'. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) E. S. Brooks 661 

Coasting in August. (Illustrated by Frank M. Gregory) Mrs. Frank M. Gregory . . . 730 

" Constitutional " on the Beach, A. Picture, drawn by Mary Hallock ) 

Foote J ' ■ " 2 9 

Conundrum-jingles. (Illustrated by G. R. Hatal E. E. Sterns 549, 660, 932 

Daisies. Poem. (Illustrated by Albert E. Sterner) D. C. Washburn S6S 

Daughter Itha. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Evelyn Martinengo Cesaresco 6S6 

Dreamland Sheep, The. Poem .Mary L. B. Branch SoS 

I Driven Back to Eden. (Illustrated by \V. H. Drake) E. P. Roe 490 

«- 5 6 9, 653, 751, S30, 932 

«S Duet, A. Picture, drawn by Joseph E. Travis ' 695 

Energetic Assistant, An. Picture, drawn by H. J. Moser 560 

— Five Little White Heads. Verses. (Illustrated by Laura Hoyle Burr). . . Halter Learned 609 



From Bach to Wagner 


Agatha Tunis 518 

5S3, 70S, 760, S27, 930 



Mozart 708 

Beethoven 760 

Schubert S27 

Mendelssohn 93° 

From Zurich Town. Poem Celia Thaxter. 587 

Fun with a Roller-skate. Picture, drawn by F. Bellew, Jr 605 

Game of Do.mino-ten-pins, A. Picture, drawn by A. Brennan 816 

"Garden of Girls " Stories. (Illustrated) 8S6 

Peggy's Garden and What Grew Therein Celia Tliaxter S86 

Good Boy Brigade, The. Picture 640 

Good Girl, The. Jingle /. R. Wells 645 

Grandpa's Old Slipper, and Baby's New Shoe. Verse. (Illustrated by \ E ,,- 6 

W. H. Drake) S ' ' 

Great Blue Heron, The. Poem. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Celia Thaxter . 776 

Great but Modest Beggar, A. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 8S0 

Great Financial Scheme, A. (Illustrated by Geo. R. Halm and others). . .Sophie Swett 846 

Griffin and the Minor Canon, The. (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Frank R. Stockton S96 

Handel Agatha Tunis 51S 

Harvest Moon, The. Picture, drawn by Jessie McDermott 731 

Haydn Agatha Tunis 5S3 

Helen's Prize Dinner. (Illustrated) Anna McClure Shall 609 

His One Fault. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) J. T. Trowbridge 501 

590, 669, 767, S21, 905 

Historic Girls. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch and others) E. S. Brooks 661, 915 

Clotilda of Burgundy : The Girl of the French Vineyards 661 

Pulcheria of Constantinople : The Girl of The Golden Horn 915 

Honey-hunters. (Illustrated by J. M. Nugent) John R. Coryell 912 

PIouse of String, A. (Illustrated by \V. J. Fenn) Margaret Meredith 543 

How Paul Called Off the Dog Lavinia S. Goodwin 859 

How Science Won the Game. (Illustrated by F. T. Merrill) George B. M. Haivev 924 

" Hullo, Old Stiff-legs ! " Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 575 

PIunter's Moon, The. Picture, drawn by Jessie McDermott S63 

Hurry and Worry. Verse CCS 624 


.Mrs. S. M. B. Piatt. 
. Elizabeth Cole 

In Primrose Time. Poem. 

In September. Poem 

Inventor's Head, The. (Illustrated by William Mason) 

" It May Seem Very Foolish." Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) , , Walter Bobbett. . . .: 

Japanese Creeping Baby, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) .... DeWilt Clinton Lockiaood . 
Jaunty Jay, The. Jingle. (Illustrated) A. R. Wells 



Jingles 549, 560, 576, 624, 640, 645, 660, 743, S30, 839, S60, S95, 932 

Johnny " Interviews " an Anemone Alice Wellington Rollins. . . 666 

King Drinks, The. Picture 760 

Knowing Little Fish, The. Verses. (Illustrated by Boz) Walton Isaacs 911 

Lady Golden-rod. Poem. (Illustrated) Carrie W. Branson 858 

Land Without a Name, The. Poem. (Illustrated) Helen Gray Cone 652 

Liberty Bell, The. Poem. (Illustrated by W. H. Goater). E. S. Brooks 676 

Little Britomartis. (Illustrated by II. Sandham) Alice Maude Eddy . . 499 

Little Dame Fortune. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Rachel Carew 723 

Little Gray Pocket, The. Poem. (Illustrated) Julia P. Ballard S19 

" Little Maid, Pretty Maid." Verse. (Illustrated by Walter Bobbett) S30 

Little Peek-a-boo. Song .... Wade II hippie 869 

Little Penelope's Sewing. Verses. ' illustrated by Laura C. Hills) -Inna .)/. Pratt 541 

Little Pisa and Great Rome. (Illustrated by Joseph Pennell) Frank R. Stockton 733 

LITTLE Stamp Collector, The. Verses. (Illustrated) Mary L. B. Branch 732 



LONELY LION, THE. Jingle. (Illustrated) LA'. Wells 895 

LULLABY, A. Poem. (Illustrated by A. G. Plympton) Trent Putnam 668 

Mendelssohn -Igatha Tunis 930 

Mozart . . igatha Tunis 70X 

Mrs. Grimalkin and the Little ( Irimalkins. Picture 732 

" Myself, or Another ? " Marion Satlerlce . . . 529 

My Sweetheart. Verses ... I lien G. Bigelow. 828 

Nicknames. (Illustrated) Henry Frederic Reddall. S61 

October. Poem. (Illustrated by Laura C. Hills) Laura M. Marquand 904 

Officious Toucan, An. Picture, drawn by F. C. Drake 800 

" Oh, an Orange ! " Picture, drawn by A. Temple 720 

" Oh, Dear ! " (Illustrated by E. W. Kemble) Laura E. Richards . . 646 

Old Pipes and the Dryad. (Illustrated by Kenyon Cox) . Frank R. Stockton 561 

Oracular Owl, The. Jingle. (Illustrated) ■/. R. Wells S95 

Our Secret Society. (Illustrated by Jessie Curtis Shepherd) Maria W. Jones .... . 650 

Out for a Drive. Picture, drawn by R. B. Birch 501 

Owl, the Pussy-cat, and the Little Boy, The. Jingle. (Illustrated ) T ,. „ 

by the Author)... .. \J. G. Francis . . .839 

Peggy's Garden and What Grew Therein. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Ce/ia Thaxter 886 

Personally Conducted. (Illustrated by Joseph Penned) Frank R. Stockton ... 733 

Little Pisa and Great Rome 733 

Pictures 501, 560, 575, 5S6, 605, 606, 640, 695, 720, 729, 731, 732, 741, 750, 760, Soo, S16, 829, 

S52, 863, 8S0, SS5, 940, 960 

Pleasant Walk, A. (Illustrated) Laura E. Richards 742 

" Polly Want a Cracker ? " Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 720 

Princess Papillones. (Illustrated by W. II. Drake) ilfred Trumble 596 

Pulcheria of Constantinople. (Illustrated by Albert E. Sterner) E. S. Brooks 915 

Puss and the Window-shade. Picture, drawn by P. Newell Soo 

Puzzled Pedlar, A. Picture, drawn by F. Bellew SSo 

Race, The. Poem. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) C. L. D 944 

Ready' for Business ; or, Choosing an Occupation ... George J. Manson 773 

A House-builder 773 

Reign of the Roller-skate, The. Picture, drawn by Jessie Curtis Shepherd 750 

Royal Game of Tennis, The. (Illustrated) Charles Ledyard Norton . 600 

School Afloat, A. (Illustrated by H. A. Johnson) John IT. Gibbons and 

Charles Barnard 67S 

School of Long Ago, A. (Illustrated) Edward Eggkslon 643 

Schubert -Igatha S27 

September Day on the Lake, A. Picture, by Elbridge Kingsley S29 

Sheep or Silver ? (Illustrated by Henry Sandham and others) William AT. Baker 577 

6S9, 744, S04 

Six Little Flies, The. Verses. (Illustrated by W. H. Goater) DeWiit C. Lockwood 701 

Spiders of the Sea. (Illustrated by J. M. Nugent) . . . C. F. Holder S40 

Spring-time. Poem Florence R. Hill 525 

String of Birds' Eggs, A. Poem LTelen Gray Cone 72S 

Summer Night, A. Poem Alice Boise Wood 56S 

" Summer, 's Coming." Picture, drawn by Mary Wyrnan Wallace 606 

Sympathetic Time-piece, A. Verses. (Illustrated by W. H. Goater) Vary L. B. Branch 542 

Teaching Tabby' and the Kittens How to Play Cat's Cradle. Picture, 

drawn by J. C. Beard 940 

Tennis, The Royal Game of. (Illustrated) Charles Ledyard Norton . . 600 

Terrible Gymnast, A. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Mrs. .1/. Sheffey Peters ... .621 

Terrible Jack-knife, The. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) Z. X. Chapin S20 

Those Clever Greeks. (Illustrated) Arlo Bates . 941 

Tricycle of the Future, The. (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Frank R. Stockton 4S1 

Truant Keys, The. Verses. (Illustrated by W. H. Goater from sketches } „ , . „ , „ 

1. /-. a t> 1 \ . Sarah A. Peple. est; 

by George A. Peple) ^ ' -> -> 

"Two Brave but Trembling Maidens." Jingle. (Illustrated) W, G 640 



Unlucky Urchin, The. Jingle 4. R. Wells 743 

Up Goes 7 he Eagle ! Picture, drawn by Addie Ledyard 741 

War with the Little " Redskins " J. F. Hcrrick SS3 

Washington's First Correspondence /to'. Henry Augustus Adams 685 

Water-museum, A. (Illustrated by D. Clinton Peters) ' G. E. Channing 784 

What Toe and Jean Saw at the New Orleans Exposition. (Illus- \ 4n!II - t , c crater «2 

trated by W. H. Goater) ) ' ' -" 

What the Flowers Said. Poem Grace F. Pennyfacker 759 

When Mamma Was a Little Girl. Verses Grace F. Coolidge 914 

Wise Old Man, The. Verses. (Illustrated by F. Opper) Emma A. Ofper 910 

Work and Play for Young Folk. (Illustrated) 543 

A House of String Margaret Meredith 543 


For Very Little Folk. (Illustrated.) 

Helen's Friends Helen C. Stockton 552 

A Finger Play Emma C. Dozed 553 

Mother Duck Bessie Parker 630 

How Sport Saved the Kittens DeWitt C. Lockwood 710 

The Long Train Laura E. Richards 790 

Little Red Hen Eudora M. BumsteaJ. S72 

The Patient Cat Laura E. Richards 952 

Our Music Page. 

Little Peek-a-boo Wade Whipple S69 

J ack-in-the-Pulpit. (Illustrated. ) 

Introduction — A Polite Mule — A Cannibal Daisy-bug — Fifteen Owners Wanted (illustrated) — The Golden 
Gate, 550 ; Introduction — The Ink-plant — A Moon-rainbow — More About Ants — Why Golden Gate ? — 
"Sing, Sweet Bird" (illustrated), 632; Introduction — Fifteen Feet and their Owners — An Apple-tree 
Indeed — Thousands for One Gown — Some People's Queer Notions — Butterfly Head-dresses (illustrated) — 
Those Pet Beetles — Illuminated Frogs, 712 ; Introduction — Fifteen Owners Found — The Illuminated Frogs 
Again — An Illuminated Fish — A Tamed Welsh Rabbit — White Squirrels — "Ship Ahoy!" (illustrated) 
792; Introduction — Moon Rainbows and All Sorts of Things — Other Lunar Rainbows — Where Do They 
Come From ? — How the Turtle Winks — A Good Book — Hemiptera Homoptera (illustrated), S70 ; Intro- 
duction — "Dear Apple, — W r ake Up 1 " — Baby Lions and Cats — How Some Bees Were Deceived — More 
About Surnames — What a Squirrel Mother Did (illustrated) — What About This ? 950. 

The Agassiz Association (Illustrated) 556, 636, 716, 796, S76, 956 

The Letter-box ( Illustrated) 554, 634, 714, 794, 874, 954 

The Riddle-box (Illustrated) 558, 63S, 718, 79S, S7S, 958 

Editorial Notes 554, 634, 714, S74, 954 


" All on the Road to Alibazan," by R. B. Birch, facing Title-page of Volume — " Old Pipes and the Dryad," 
by Kenyon Cox, facing page 561 — "The Pet Fawn," by Mary Hallock Foote, facing page 643 — "Little 
Dame Fortune," by R. B. Birch, facing page 723 — " A Trip Around the World," facing page S03 — " Friends 
or Foes ? " facing page SS3. 


Vol. XII. 

MAY, 1885. 

No. 7. 

[Copyright, 1885, by The CENTURY CO.] 


By Frank R. Stockton. 

Fred Humphreys was a boy of an original 
mind ; that is to say, he was very fond of thinking 
for himself and doing things of which he had 
never either heard or read. This may or may 
not be a good disposition in a boy. It depends 
altogether upon what kind of a boy he is. If he 
mixes a great deal of reason with his original think- 
ing, — if he is able to see when he has made a mis- 
take, and is willing to acknowledge it, — and if he 
is of a prudent turn of mind, and is not willing to 
dive into a new enterprise until he knows how deep 
it is and whether or not the current is too strong 
for him, it may be very well for him to do his 
own thinking. But if he does not possess these 
requisites, it would be better, until he is older, to 
let some one else attend to this matter for him. 

Fred was an only son, and his father was desir- 
ous that he should find out as much as possible for 
himself during his boyhood. He was to be a 
business man, and would probably have a great 
many tips and downs in the course of his life ; and 
Mr. Humphreys had an idea that if his son could 
get through with some of the " downs " during his 
minority, the experience he would thereby gain 
would prevent his having just as many of them in 
after life, when they would be much more im- 

When the bicycle came into use in this country, 
Fred Humphreys was one of the first boys who 
had one. When an improved form of the machine 
was invented, Fred sold his old one, and his father 
added money enough to what he received to buy 
Vol. XII. — 31. 

one of the new kind. This change from good to 
better occurred several times ; and when the tricy- 
cle came before the public, Fred gave up his last 
bicycle, and bought one of the three-wheeled 
machines, and, after using this for some months, 
he disposed of it, and became the possessor of a 
first-class double tricycle, that would carry two 
persons. Sometimes with his sister, and some- 
times with a boy friend, Fred made excursions in 
this tricycle through the country round about the 
town in which he lived. 

This town was situated in the interior of one 
of our Northern States. It was much frequented 
in the summer-time as a watering-place, and 
some of the roads leading to hotels and places of 
popular resort in the neighborhood were unusually 
smooth and well made, and, therefore, admirably 
adapted to bicycles and tricycles. On these fine 
roads Fred and his machine soon became almost 
as well known as were the famous " tally-hos," with 
four or six horses, which in the season made reg- 
ular trips between the town and various pleasant 
spots in the surrounding country. 

But, much as Fred enjoyed his tricycle, he be- 
came convinced in time that there might be some- 
thing better : and as nothing better had, as yet, 
been invented by any one else, he determined, if pos- 
sible, to invent it himself. The idea which gradu- 
ally developed itself in his mind was this : If a boy 
can pull a vehicle, say a tricycle, at the rate of a 
certain number of miles per hour, and with an 
amount of exertion which he can keep up for a 




certain time, and if that boy, by getting into that 
tricycle, and working it with his legs, can propel 
it at a far greater rate of speed and can keep up 
the exercise for a much longer time than when he 
was pulling it — then it must follow that if a horse, 
which pulls a vehicle of any kind, could get inside 
that vehicle and work it with its legs, it could 
propel it at a much higher rate of speed than 
when it was dragging it along the ground. And 
if one horse, why not two, or four? Why should 
there not be a great tally-ho coach, with six horses 
working tread-mills on the lower story, while 
crowds of passengers sat above enjoying the rapid 
and exhilarating excursion ? This last idea came 
into Fred's mind as a picture of the Great Tricycle 
of the Future. How proud and happy he would 
be to build and own a machine of this kind ! 
He would sit in front with his hand upon the 
steering gear, while six fine horses steadily trod 
the propelling arrangement behind him, eating, as 
they worked, from mangers under their noses ; 
while the ladies and gentlemen who used to crowd 
the old "tally-hos" would sit comfortably on the 
second story, and never tire of telling one another 
how much better this was than the comparatively 
slow trips they used to take in the ordinary coaches 
and carriages. 

After thinking over this matter for about a week, 
and making a good many plans and drawings, Fred 
determined to try to carry out his invention. He 
did not set out to build at first a machine for six 
horses and two or three coach-loads of passengers ; 
but he would attempt to make something much 
more modest, although constructed upon the great 
principle that it would be better for the horse to 
be inside the vehicle and propel both it and him- 
self than to stay outside and pull it. If the com- 
paratively simple contrivance which he proposed 
to make should work satisfactorily, then it would 
be easy enough to get sufficient capital to build the 
grand machine (with driving-wheels twenty feet 
high and a six-horse team to work it), which, 
in his mind, he called the Tricycle of the Future. 

When he laid his plans and his schemes before 
his father, Mr. Humphreys considered them very 
carefully. He had not much faith in Fred's grand 
scheme of the two-storied tricycle with six horses, 
but he thought that something on a smaller scale 
might succeed. He agreed with his son that ex- 
periments with dogs or goats, which Fred had first 
thought of, would be a loss of time and labor, be- 
cause it would be so much trouble to teach these 
animals to act properly; whereas, an ordinary horse 
was already trained sufficiently for the purpose. 
Besides, a dog or goat machine, in Fred's eyes, 
would appear like a mere plaything, and would 
not attract the attention of capitalists; but one 

worked by horses, however rough it might be, 
would show at once what could actually be done. 

Having received his father's consent and the 
promise of a moderate amount of money for his 
expenses, — for Mr. Humphreys was a rich man, and 
very generous toward his son, — Fred went to work 
upon the machine, which was intended to show the 
principle of his invention. It would be a rough 
affair, but if it worked properly, its crudity would 
not matter ; all he wished was to show that the 
thing could be done. For the building of his ma- 
chine Fred employed a man who was both a car- 
penter and a blacksmith ; and as he himself was 
very handy with tools, and this was summer holiday 
time, he worked nearly all day and was of great 
help in finishing the thing. 

When all was done, the new vehicle was indeed 
a curious affair, and attracted a great deal of atten- 
tion, especially from Fred's boy friends. It con- 
sisted of a strong frame-work, or floor, at the back 
of which was a pair of enormous wheels, which had 
been made for a truck used for hauling great 
stones and slabs of marble. These were the driv- 
ing-wheels, and in front was a small but strong 
wheel, which was turned by a tiller, like the helm 
of a ship; and with this the vehicle was steered.. 
Between the driving- wheels was set up a machine 
known in some parts of the country as a " double 
horse-power," and which is used by many farmers 
to give motive power to various kinds of agricult- 
ural machines. It consists, in the first place, of an 
inclined floor of slats which moves like an endless 
chain; and when ahorse walks on this the animal re- 
mains where he is, but the floor moves, and contin- 
ually passing from under him and going down to the 
lower part of the machine, comes up again in front 
of him. This motion of the floor turns various cog- 
wheels under it, and a very rapid motion is commu- 
nicated from them to the machine which is to be 
worked. The horses are penned in by a low 
fence, and all they have to do is to walk or tread 
steadily on, along the moving floor. Some of these 
"horse-powers" are for one horse and some for 
two ; and Fred had hired a double one from a 
farmer who lived not far away. This machine was 
connected with the driving-wheels of his tricycle, 
and, when horses were put into it and started, the 
great wheels would be turned, the vehicle would 
move forward, and the Tricyclism of the Future 
would begin. 

There were no accommodations for passengers ; 
all that could come afterward. What Fred wanted 
to show was that a tricycle could be run by horse- 
power as well as by man or boy power, the horses 
being carried along just as the man or boy is car- 
ried along. In front was a seat for the steersman, 
who was to be Fred himself, and in the extreme 




rear was a small platform for his assistant, whose 
duty it would be to attend to the brakes and to 
stop the ''horse-power," when necessary, so that 
the floor on which the horses stood should become 

A great many opinions were expressed in regard 
to this new vehicle. Men generally laughed at it ; 
some of the boys thought it would work, while 
others thought it would not. Among the latter 
was one, small for his age but old for his years, 
who was generally known as " Putty " Morris. — 
this name having been given to him by his com- 
panions on account of his having a complexion the 
color of which was not unlike that of ordinary putty. 

" I don't want with me any boy who is a pessi- 
mist," continued Fred. 

" What 's that? " asked Putty. 

" Why, that 's a fellow who 's always thinking 
that everything is certain to go wrong. Now, I like 
optimists, who believe that things are sure to go 
right; that is, as long as there 's any chance for 'em. 
Everybody who ever did anything great in this 
world was an optimist ; for, of course, he would n't 
keep hammering at, or fighting out anything if 
he did n't think it would succeed. Don't you see 

" Of course," said Putty, "if a fellow really 
thought a thing would work, and wanted it to work, 


This youth did not believe in the new tricycle at 
all. Everything was too heavy and lumbering, he 
said, and if Fred ever did succeed in setting it 
going, it would be a very difficult machine to con- 
trol, and there was certain to be some sort of a 

" Now, look here, Putty," said Fred, taking him 
to one side and speaking to him in a manner 
which he intended should be of service to the 
youngster, "I've been thinking of asking you to 
be my assistant ; but I wish you to know that I 
am not going to do it now." 

" All right ! " said Putty. 

he 'd better be an optimist ; but if he thought 
the other way about it, why, I think the more he 
pessimed the better." 

"Goodness!" said Fred, laughing. "If you 
twisted my machinery as badly as you twist the 
English language, you 'd spoil everything for me 
very soon." 

A boy who believed in the new machine, and 
who was willing to act in the position of brake- 
man and general assistant, was found in the person 
of Johnny Hammond, a stout fellow of sixteen, 
who was always ready for anything of a novel or 
lively character. 

4 8 4 


Nothing now remained but to secure the work- 
ing power, that is to say, the horses. Fred had 
hoped that his father would let him have the car- 
riage-horses, but to this Mr. Humphreys objected ; 
he did not wish them used for that sort of work. 
He had, however, a steady brown mare, named 
Jenny, who was often employed in farm-work, and 
was accustomed to a " horse-power," and he told 
Fred that he was welcome to use this animal for his 
experiment. After some trouble, for horses were 
much needed by their owners at that time of the 
year, Fred hired from a farmer an elderly animal 
known as Glaucus, which had once been, according 
to tradition, a very fine and spirited horse, but had 
now settled down into the soberness and placidity 
of age. Glaucus was tall and bony and not anx- 
ious to work, but he had weight and strength, and 
these are important points in a beast which is to 
work a " horse-power." These two horses did not 
make quite so good a team as Fred had hoped to 
have, but, as he said, they did very well to begin with. 

It was determined that the trial trip should take 
place early in the forenoon, before there were 
many carriages and vehicles on the road, and they 
did not make any general announcement of the mat- 
ter, as both Fred and his father thought it would be 
better to have as few spectators as possible at this 
first experiment of the running of the machine. 
If it succeeded, then every one who chose could 
see it work. 

In spite of their precautions, however, quite 
a crowd of boys assembled to see the horse- 
tricycle start, and Mr. Humphreys and the man 
who made the machine were also there. Heavy 
planks with cross-slats nailed on them were laid 
from the back of the vehicle to the ground, and 
up these the horses were led, and placed in the 
two divisions of the "horse-power." The bars 
were put up behind them, and each horse was tied 
by its halter to the front rails. The gate of the yard 
in which the machine had been built was opened ; 
Fred climbed up in front and took the tiller, Johnny 
Hammond mounted the rear platform, and all 
was ready. 

"Take off the brakes, and start the horses!" 
cried Fred. 

Whereupon, Johnny released the big wheels 
from the pressure of the brakes, and then moved 
the lever which gave play to the machinery of the 
" horse-power," at the same time starting the 
horses into a walk. Around went the moving 
floor on which the horses stood ; around and 
around went the two driving-wheels, and the 
tricycle was off ! 

At first it moved very slowly, as was to have been 
expected, for the ground in the yard was rough ; 
but when Fred had safely steered through the 

gate, and the tricycle was on the hard, smooth road, 
it began to go along much more easily. Mr. 
Humphreys and the man walked by the side of it, 
greatly pleased with the success of the experiment, 
while the boys surrounded it on all sides, some 
cheering and some chaffing ; for, although it 
moved along very well, it certainly was an odd af- 
fair to look at. They were in the suburbs of the 
town, but a great many people stopped to gaze at 
the horse tricycle, and very soon Fred determined 
to let every one see that his new vehicle could go 
at a much faster speed than a walk. The machine 
was a heavy one, and rather awkward and clumsy 
in its appearance, but the wheels turned easily on 
their axles, which were well oiled, while the machin- 
ery which connected the "horse-power " with the 
driving-wheels was simple and worked smoothly. 
Therefore, although he could make no such speed 
as he expected to give to the great Tricycle of the 
Future, Fred felt sure he could go along at a pretty 
fair rate, and ordered Johnny Hammond to make 
the horses trot. Johnny therefore touched up 
Jenny and Glaucus, and, after some unwilling- 
ness, they broke into a trot, and the tricycle began 
to move over the road at a very creditable speed. 
Mr. Humphreys and the mechanic soon ceased to 
follow ; and although the boys ran after the machine 
for some distance, they dropped off, one by one. 
A few of them tried to climb up behind and enjoy 
a free ride, but this the sturdy Johnny Hammond 
would not allow. 

Fred steered his tricycle into a wide and hand- 
some road which led to a much-frequented hotel 
standing on the shore of the lake, about four miles 
from town. The boy was flushed and happy. 
The experiment was a success, and he was going 
along as fast as a horse at an ordinary trot. If he 
could do so much with a home-made affair like 
this, what could not be accomplished with a vast 
machine for six horses, which should be as light and 
strong and as perfect in all its parts as the finest 
bicycle or tricycle in the world ? Johnny Ham- 
mond, too, was in high spirits, and he continually 
shouted to Fred his approbation of the working of 
his " gay old machine." The only individual on 
the big tricycle that seemed to be discontented was 
Glaucus. He had never been in the habit of 
going so fast on the " horse-power," and besides, 
there was something in the manner of his progres- 
sion along the road which seemed to disturb his 
mind. He tossed up his head, the fire of his 
youth came into his eyes, and from trotting he be- 
gan to canter. Johnny's shouts did not moderate 
his pace, and Jenny, feeling that she must do as 
Glaucus did, also broke into a canter. Fred shouted 
to put on the brakes and stop the horses ; but this 
Johnny found to be no easy job. The " horse- 



power " was going with such force and rapidity 
that the regulating apparatus could not work, and 
the brakes seemed to take but little hold upon the 
driving-wheels. Then he climbed up by the side 
of Glaucus, and, seizing him by the halter, tried 
to moderate his speed; but he found that the 
horse was thoroughly frightened and that he could 
do nothing with him. The spirit of Jenny, too, 
was now aroused, and she seemed to be trying to 
get out of this scrape by running as fast as she 
could. Fred could do nothing to help, for, if he 
let go of the tiller for a moment, the steering- 
wheel would turn round, and the great tricycle 
would be dashed to one side and be upset and 
wrecked in an instant. 

Fred mentally noted the fact that in a properly 
constructed machine of this sort, there would need 
to be some way of throwing the driving-wheels 
" out of gear," so that there would be no connec- 
tion between them and the " horse-power. '' In 
that case the vehicle could be stopped, no matter 
how fast the horses were going. 

Johnny now again put his whole weight on 
the brakes of the driving-wheels, but he found this 
was of no use. 

The fact that the road began to slope gently 
before them, so that they were really going down- 
hill, made matters all the worse, and the panic 
which seemed to possess the two horses now 
extended to Johnny Hammond, who, shouting 
to Fred to save himself while he could, promptly 
jumped off behind. 

Fred was pale and frightened, but he did not 
jump off. He knew that if he did, the tricycle 
would upset, and the horses would probably be 
killed ; and, besides, he knew well that it would be 
a very dangerous thing to jump off in front of 
those great driving-wheels. All that he could do 
was to stay at his post, and hope that the horses 
would soon tire themselves out. 

The two animals were now working the " horse- 
power " at a furious rate ; the few people in the 
road stood in amazement or ran after the machine 
as it passed, while carriages and wagons gave the 
on-coming tricycle, with its rattling and its bang- 
ing and its bounding horses, a wide berth. 

Fred was now nearing the hotel by the lake. The 
broad road led directly to the water, but on one 
side it branched off into a narrower drive which ran 
along the shore. It was Fred's intention to turn into 
this road, because his only safety seemed to be to 
go as far as he could, and so tire out the horses. 
But he was dashing on so fast that he made a mis- 
calculation ; when he reached the turning-point, 
he did not move his tiller quickly enough, and so 
lost his chance of running upon the lake road. 
Now, before him, at a very short distance, lay the 

lake, and on its edge, directly in front of him, was 
a row of sheds for the accommodation of the horses 
and carriages of the visitors to the hotel. Fred's 
first thought was to steer directly into these sheds, 
and so stop the mad career of his tricycle ; but this 
would result in a general smash-up, and, as he was 
in front of everything, he would probably be killed. 
He did not dare to jump off, as he would have to 
jump directly in front of the big driving-wheels. 
There seemed nothing for him to do but to steer 
into the lake. If this had to be done, the deeper 
the water into which he plunged the better ; and 
with this idea in his mind, he deftly guided his 
machine past the sheds, and toward a pier which 
extended a short distance into the lake. Thunder- 
ing upon the plank floor came the great tricycle, 
and in the next instant it had gone off the end of 
the pier and down into the water. 

There was a huge splash ; there were shouts 
from the hotel and from the road ; a fountain of 
spray shot high into the air, and then a foaming, 
whirling, gurgling pool closed over the spot where 
the great dive had been made. Down to the bot- 
tom of the lake sank, not only Fred's Tricycle of 
the Present, but his great Tricycle of the Future, 
with its two stories, its beautifully working machin- 
ery, its crowds of passengers, and its wonderful 
achievements. There was nothing of the kind now 
for Fred but a wrecked and sunken Tricycle of 
the Past. 

At the moment the steering-wheel left the edge 
of the pier, Fred made a wild spring into the 
water, and so went down by himself, off at one 
side of the descending machine. As he sank, 
thoughts and ideas passed through Fred's mind as 
rapidly as if they were being telegraphed on a wire. 
One of these was that all he had been working fcr 
so hard had now come to a disastrous end ; for his 
father would never more allow him to have any- 
thing to do with such an unmanageable machine 
as a horse-tricycle. But the thought that over- 
shadowed everything else was the fate of those poor 
horses ! They were tied to the " horse-power " by 
their halters, and would, therefore, be kept down 
at the bottom of the lake, and be drowned. There 
was so much heavy iron-work about the machinery, 
it would certainly hold them there like an an- 
chor. Fred had no fears in regard to himself. 
No thought of sorrow-stricken parents or weeping 
friends passed through his mind : he had been 
down to the bottom of the lake before, and although 
he was encumbered with clothing, his coat was 
thin, his shoes were light, and he knew that he 
could swim to shore. 

In a very short time he rose to the top of the 
water and began to strike out for the pier. Then 
some distance behind him came up the head of a 

4 86 



horse, and Jenny, with a little snort, went swim- 
ming landward. Now appeared another horse's 
head, and Glaucus, with wildly staring eyes, came 
floundering up, and, after gazing about in much 
amazement, made for a distant point along the 
shore, as if he did not wish to land at a place 
where he had come to such grief. Last of all, up 
came Putty Morris, his hair dripping with water, 
and his mouth spluttering vigorously as he slowly 
swam shoreward ! 

When Fred reached the pier and had taken one 
of the dozen hands which were extended to him 
from the little crowd of people who had hurried 
there, he was quickly pulled up, and whatever he 
had intended to say was cut short by his astonish- 
ment at seeing Jenny just coming to land. Then, 
turning around, his amazement was increased by 
the sight of Glaucus, still making for his distant 
point. But when he beheld Putty Morris, spluttering 
and paddling steadily for the pier, Fred's hair, wet 
as it was, felt as if it would like to stand on end. 

" Do you live down there ? " he said to Putty, 
a moment later, when that dripping boy was hauled 
upon the pier. 

" Not exactly," was the answer, after several 
vigorous shakes and puffs; "and if I 'd known 
that you were going to take me down there, you 
may be sure I 'd never have jumped aboard your 
crazy old machine." 

"How did you come to do it?" asked Fred. 
" I did n't know you were there." 

" Well," said Putty, " I was up the road there, 
and saw you coming like a lot of wild Indians. I 
saw Johnny Hammond jump off, and guessed 

something was the matter. Before the thing was 
up to me I knew that the horses were running 
away, or trying to, and that you were hanging on 
to your steering gear with a rather pessimy look 
on your face, and that you could n't let go to do 
anything with the horses. So I ran after you, and 
climbed up behind, and I had to be a pretty lively 
hoptimist to do it, I can tell you. All I could 
try to do was to get you rid of your horses, 
and I thought that if I untied their halters and 
took down their bars they 'd slide out behind, and 
then you 'd stop. I did n't say anything to you, 
for there was such a noise I did n't suppose you 'd 
hear me ; and just as I unfastened the second 
halter we were out on the pier, and before I had 
time to jump, down we all went together ! " 

" Fred," said Putty Morris to his friend a few 
days after these events, " are you going to make 
any more of your big machines ? " 

" Well, no," said Fred, " not at present. These 
things can't be done without money, and father is 
rather touchy on that subject just now. He has 
had to pay for that double " horse-power," and 
everything else is a dead loss ; and besides that, 
old Glaucus scraped his leg in the scrimmage and 
he '11 not be fit to be used for a month. 1 am going 
to begin again at the very bottom round, and if I 
run anything else of the kind this summer, I shall 
get a unicycle." 

"A unicycle!" exclaimed Putty; "what is 
that ? " 

"Why, don't you know?" said Fred. "There 
goes a fellow with one now." 


4885. J 



J%ll on the road to Ah'fc^an ^ 
, "2\ May £^y in the morning , 
T/Was there I met a bonny jyoung man, 

-.A. May J) ay in the m°rning , 
A. b"°nny _y°ung man all dressed in blue, 
Hat and feather and sacking and sh°c , 
il|^&t£eind doublet and mantle, £°o, 
« 'A May pay in them°min^ . 



A L I B A Z A N . 


He made me a b°w, and he made me three 
y\ Mayday in the m°rnin<5 , 
He said , indeed, I was fair to w<z , 
/\ May Day in the m°rm'ng , 
y\nd say,willyou be my sweetheart now 
1 1 1 marry y°u truly xvifh ring ai id vow ! 
I've ten fat sheep and a blaek-n°Sed cow, 
y\ May Day in the m°rain£ ." 

4 ""What shall we buy in Aliba^an 
A. May Day in the m°i'nin$9 
J\ pair °f ih°e5 and a feathered fan, 
-A May Day in the mining ? 
n^-j-j y\ velvet gown all set with pearls , 
r : iV\ silver bat fory°ur golden curls, 
^A-pinKy hood for my pinK. of £jW$, 
A. May ])ay In the m°rnin<£. " 


A L I B A Z A N . 


All iri the church of Alibajarv,'' 

A May Day in the m fnin^,, : — 
Twas {here 1 wed my b°nny y°iing 'man,, 

AMay Day in. the m°min<;\ . 
And oh! tis I am bis sweetheart n w.i 
j\r\d oh! tis we that are happy 1 trow, . 
With out* ten fat sheep and our blaek-n°sed'c°v<7 s 

yVDlayD^y in the m°rmn^ ■ 







By E. P. Roe. 

Chapter IV. 


My agonized shout as I saw Bobsey swept away 
by the swollen torrent of the Moodna Creek was 
followed closely by his own shrill scream. It 
so happened, or a kind Providence so ordered it, 
that Junior was farther down the stream, tapping a 
maple that had been overlooked the previous day. 
He sprang to his feet, whirled about in the direc- 
tion of the little boy's cry, and, the next instant, 
rushed to the bank and plunged in. 

Spell-bound I watched his efforts, for I knew I 
was much too far away to be of aid, and that all 
now depended on the hardy country lad. He dis- 
appeared for a second beneath the tide, and then 
his swift strokes proved that he was a good swim- 
mer. Very quickly he caught up with Bobsey, for 
the current was too rapid to permit the child to 

sink. Then, with 

a wisdom learned from experi- 
ence, he let the tor- 
rent carry him in 
a long slant toward 
the shore, for it 
would have been 

hopeless to try to stem the current. Running as 
I never ran before, I followed, reached the bank 
where there was an eddy in the stream, sprung in 
up to my waist, seized them both as they drifted 
near me, and dragged them to solid ground. 

Bobsey was conscious, although he had swal- 
lowed some water, and I was soon able to restore 
him, so that he could stand on his feet and cry : 
" I — I — I w-w-ont d-do so any — any more." 
Instead of punishing him, as he evidently ex- 
pected, I clasped him to my heart with a nervous 
force that almost made him cry out with pain. 

Junior, meanwhile, had coolly seated himself on 
a rock, emptied the water out of his shoes, and 
was tying them on again, at the same time striving 
with all his might to maintain a stolid composure 
under Winnie's grateful embraces and Merton's 
repeated hand-shakings. But when, having be- 
come assured of Bobsey's welfare, I also rushed 
forward and embraced Junior in a transport of 
gratitude, the boy's lip began to quiver, and two 
great tears mingled with the water that was drip- 
ping from his hair. Suddenly he broke away and 
ran swiftly toward his home, as if he had been 
caught in some mischief and the constable were 
after him. 

I carried Bobsey home, and his mother, with 
many questions, and exclamations of thanks- 
giving, undressed the little fellow, wrapped him in 
flannel and put him to bed, where he was soon 
sleeping as quietly as if nothing had happened. 

Mrs. Jones came over, and we made her rubi- 
cund face beam, and grow more round, if possible, 
as we all praised her boy. I returned with her, for 
I felt that I wished to thank Junior again and 
again. But he saw me coming and slipped out at 
the back door. Indeed, the brave, bashful boy was 
shy of us for several days. When at last my wife 
caught him, and began to praise and thank him in 
a manner natural to mothers, he made light of the 
whole affair. 

"I 've swum in that crick so often that it was 
nothin' to me. You only need to keep cool, and 
that 's easy enough in snow water, and the current 
was so swift it kep' us both up. I wish you 
would n't say anything more about it." 

But Junior soon learned that we had adopted 
him into our inmost hearts, although he com- 
pelled us to show our good-will after his own 
off-hand fashion. 

On Sunday night the wind veered around to the 
north, and on Monday morning the sky had a 
clear metallic hue and the ground was frozen hard. 
Bobsey had not taken cold, and was his former 
self, except that he was somewhat chastened in 
spirit and his bump of caution was larger. I 
was resolved that this day should witness a good 
beginning of our spring work, and told Winnie and 
Bobsey that they could help me. Junior, although 
he yet avoided the house, was ready enough to 
help Merton in getting the sap. And so, soon 
after breakfast, we all were busy. 

Around old country places, especially where there 




has been some degree of neglect, much litter and 
refuse gathers. This was true of our new home 
and its surroundings. All through the garden 
were dry, unsightly weeds ; about the house was 
shrubbery that had become tangled masses of un- 
pruned growth ; in the orchard the ground was 
strewn with fallen branches, and I could see dead 
limbs on many of the trees. Therefore I said 
to my two little helpers : 

"We will begin our brush-pile in this open 
space in the garden, and here we will bring all 
the rubbish that we wish to burn. You see that 
we can make an immense heap, for the place is so 
far away from any buildings that, when the wind 
goes down, we can set the pile on fire in safety, 
and the ashes will be good for the garden." 

During the whole forenoon I pruned the shrub- 
bery and raked up the rubbish, which the chil- 
dren carried by armfuls to our prospective bonfire. 
They were anxious to see the blaze, but I told them 
that the wind was too high, and that I did not 
propose to apply the match until we had a heap 
half as big as the house ; that it might be several 
days before we should be ready, for I intended to 
have a tremendous fire. 

For a long time they were pleased with the 
novelty of the work, and then they wanted to do 
something else, but I said: 

" No, no ; you are gardeners now, and I 'm 
head gardener. Both of you must help me till din- 
ner-time. After that you can do something else, 
or play if you choose ; but each day, even Bobsey 
must do some steady work to earn his dinner. We 
did n't come to the country on a picnic, I can tell 
you. All must do their best to help make a living." 
And so I kept my little squad busy without scruple, 
for the work was light, although it had become 

Mousie sometimes aided her mother, and again 
watched us from the window with great interest. 
I rigged upon the barrow a rack, in which I 
wheeled the rubbish gathered at a distance ; and 
by the time my wife's mellow voice called, " Come 
to dinner," we had raised a pile much higher than 
my head, and the place began to wear a tidy 

Such appetites, such rosy cheeks, and such jolly 
red noses as the outdoor workers brought to that 
plain meal ! Mousie was delighted with the prom- 
ise that the bonfire should not be lighted until some 
still, mild day when she could go out and stand 
with me beside it. 

Merton admitted that drawing the sap did not 
keep him busy more than half the time ; so after 
dinner I gave him a hatchet, and told him to go on 
with the trimming-up of the fallen branches in our 
wood-lot, — a task that I had begun, — and to 

carry out all wood heavy enough for our fire-place 
to a spot where it could be loaded on a wagon. 

" Your next work, Merton, will be to collect all 
your refuse trimmings and the brush lying about, 
into a few great heaps ; and by and by we '11 burn 
these, too, and gather up the ashes carefully, for 
I 've read and heard all my life that there is 
nothing better for fruit than wood-ashes. Some 
day, I hope, we can begin to put money in the 
bank ; for I intend to give all a chance to earn 
money for themselves, after they have done their 
share toward our general effort to live and thrive. 
The next best thing to putting money in the bank, 
is the gathering and saving of everything that will 
make the ground richer. In fact, all the papers 
and books that I 've read this winter, agree that as 
the farmer's land grows rich he grows rich." 

It must be remembered that I had spent all my 
leisure during the winter in reading and studying 
the problem of our country life. Therefore I 
knew that March was the best month for pruning 
trees, and I had gained a fairly correct idea how to 
do this work. Until within the last two or three 
years of his life, old Mr. Jamison had attended to 
this task quite thoroughly ; and thus little was left 
for me to do beyond sawing away the boughs that 
had recently died and cutting out the useless 
sprouts on the larger limbs. Before leaving the 
city I had provided myself with such tools as 
I was sure I should need ; and finding a ladder 
under a shed, I attacked the trees vigorously. 
I knew I must make the most of all the still days 
in this gusty month. 

By the middle of the afternoon Mr. Jones ap- 
peared, and I was glad to see him, for there were 
some kinds of work about which I wanted his 
advice. At one end of the garden were several 
rows of black-cap raspberry bushes, which had 
grown into a very bad snarl. The old canes that 
had borne fruit the previous season were still stand- 
ing, ragged and unsightly ; the new stalks that 
would bear during the coming season sprawled in 
every direction ; and I had found that many tips 
of the branches had grown fast in the ground. I 
took my neighbor to see this briery wilderness, 
and asked his advice. 

"Have you a pair of pruning-nippers ? " he 

Before going to the house to get them, I blew a 
shrill whistle to summon Merton, for I wished him 
also to hear all that Mr. Jones might say. I car- 
ried a little metallic whistle, one blast on which 
was for Merton, two for Winnie, and three for 
Bobsey. When they heard my call they were to 
come to me as fast as their feet could carry them. 

Taking the nippers, Mr. Jones snipped off from 
one-third to one-half the length of the branches 




from one of the bushes and cut out the old dead 

■' I raise these berries myself for home use," he 
said; " and I tell you they 're first-class with milk 
for a July supper. You see, after taking off so 
much from these long branches, the canes stand 
straight uo, and they will be self-supporting, no 
matter how many berries they bear ; but here and 
there you '11 find a bush that 's grown slantwise, or 
broken off. Now, if I were you, I 'd take a crow-bar 
'n' make a hole 'longside these weakly and slantin' 
stalks and tie 'em up strong. Then, soon as the 
fruit yields, if you '11 root out the grass and weeds 
that 's started in among 'em, you '11 have a dozen 
bushel or more of marketable berries from this 'ere 
wilderness, as you call it. Give Merton a pair of 
old gloves, and he can do most of the job. Every 
tip that 's fast in the ground is a new plant. If 
you want to set out a new patch. I '11 show you 
how, later on." 

" I think I know how to do that." 

" Yes, yes, I know. Books are a help, I s'pose ; 
but after you 've seen one plant set out rightly, 
you '11 know more than if you 'd read a month." 

" Well, now that you 're here, Mr. Jones, I 'm 
going to make the most of you. How about, those 
other raspberries off to the south-east of the 
house ? " 

" Those are red ones. We '11 go look at 'em." 

Having reached the patch, we found almost as 
bad a tangle as in the black-cap patch, except that 
the canes were more upright in their growth and 
less full of spines or briers. 

" It 's plain to see," remarked Mr. Jones. " that 
old Mr. Jamison was feelin' too poorly to take 
care of things last year. You see, these red 
raspberries grow altogether difF'rently from those 
black-caps yonder. Those increase by the tips of 
the branches takin' root : these, by suckers. All 
these young shoots comin' up between the rows are 
suckers, and they ought to be dug out. As I said 
before, you can set them out somewhere else, if 
you like. Dig 'em up, you know ; make a trench 
in some out-of-the-way place, and bury the roots 
till you want 'em. Like enough the neighbors will 
buy some if they know you have 'em to spare. 
Only be sure to cut these long canes back to within 
six inches of the ground." 

" Yes," I said, " that 's all just as I have read 
in the books." 

" So much the better for the books, then. I 
have n't lived in this fruit-growin' region all mv 
life without gettin' some idea as to what 's what. I 
give my mind to farmin' ; but Jamison and I were 
great cronies, and I used to be over here every 
day or two, and so it 's natural to keep comin'." 

" That 's my good luck," said I. 

" Well, p'r'aps it '11 turn out so. Now Merton 's 
just the right age to help you in all this work. 
Jamison, you see, grew these raspberries in a con- 
tinuous bushy row ; that is, say, three good strong 
canes every eighteen inches apart and the rows five 
feet apart, so he could run a horse-cultivator be- 
tween. Understan', Merton ? " 

" Yes, sir," said the boy, with much interest. 

" Well, all these extra suckers and plants that 
are swampin' the ground are just as bad as weeds. 
Dig 'em all out, only don't disturb the roots of the 
bearin' canes you leave in the rows any more 'n 
you can help." 

" How about trimming these?" I asked. 

" Well, that depends. If you want early fruit, 
you '11 let 'em stand as the)' are ; if you want big 
berries, you '11 cut 'em back one-third. Let me see. 
Here are five rows of ' Highland Hardy,' — miser- 
able poor-tastin' kind ; but they ripen so early 
they often pay the best." 

"Now, Mr. Jones, one other good turn and we 
'11 not trouble you any more to-day," said I. "All 
the front of the house is covered by two big grape- 
vines that have not been trimmed, and there are 
a great many other vines on the place. I 've read 
and read on the subject, but I declare I 'm afraid 
to touch them." 

"' Now you 're beyond my depth. I have a 
lot of vines home, and I trim 'em in my rough 
way, but I know I 'm not scientific, and we have 
pretty poor, scraggy bunches. They taste just as 
good, though, and I don't raise any to sell. There 's 
a clever man down near the landing who has a big 
vineyard, and he 's trimmed it as your vines ought 
to have been trimmed long ago. I 'd advise you to 
go and see him, and he can show you all the latest 
wrinkles in pruning. Now, I '11 tell you what I 
came for, in the first place. You '11 remember that 
I said there 'd be a vandoo to-morrow. I 've been 
over and looked at the stock offered. There 's a 
lot of chickens, as I told you ; a likely looking 
cow with a calf at her side ; a quiet old hoise that 
ought to go cheap, though he 'd answer well the 
first year. Do you think you '11 get more 'n one 
horse to start with ? " 

"No," said I. "You said I could hire such 
heavy plowing as was needed at a moderate sum, 
and I think we can get along with one horse for a 
time. My plan is to go slowly, and, I hope, surely." 

" That 's the best way, only it is n't common. 
I '11 be around in the mornin' for you and such of 
the children as you '11 take." 

" On one condition, Mr. Jones," I replied. " You 
must let me pay you for your time and trouble. 
Unless you '11 do this in giving me my start, I '11 
have to paddle my own canoe, even if I sink it." 

"Oh, I 've no grudge against an honest penny 



turned in any way that comes handy," said ray 
neighbor. " You and I can keep square as we go 
along. You can give me what you think is right, 
and if I 'm not satisfied, I '11 say so." 

I soon learned that my neighbor had no foolish 
sensitiveness. I could pay him what I thought 
his services were worth, and he pocketed the 
money without a word. Of course, I could not 
pay him what his advice was really worth, for his 
hard, common sense stood me in good stead in 
many ways. 

" There 's all'us changin' and breakin's-up in the 
spring," said Mr. Jones, as we drove along; " and. 
this family 's goin' out West. Everything is to be 
sold, in doors and out." 

The farm-house in question was about two 
miles away. By the time we arrived, all sorts of 
vehicles were converging to it on the muddy 
roads, for the weather had become mild again. 
Stylish-looking people drove up in top-buggies, and 
there were many heavy springless wagons driven 
by rusty-looking countrymen, with their trousers 


The next morning, at about eight o'clock, he 
arrived in a long farm-wagon on springs, with one 
seat in it. But Junior had half filled its body with 
straw, and he said to Merton : "I thought that, 
p'r'aps, if you and the children could go, you 'd 
like a straw-ride." 

Winnie and Bobsey, having promised to obey 
orders with a solemnity which gave some hope of 
performance, I tossed them into the straw, and we 
drove away, a merry party, leaving Mousie con- 
soled with the hope of receiving something from 
the vendue. 

thrust into the tops of their cowhide boots. I 
strolled through the house before the sale began, 
thinking I might possibly find something there 
that would please Mousie and my wife. The rooms 
were already half filled with the housewives from 
the vicinity ; red-faced Irishwomen, who stalked 
about and examined everything with great freedom ; 
and placid, peach-cheeked dames in Quaker bon- 
nets, who talked softly together, and took every 
chance they could to say pleasant words to the flur- 
ried, nervous family that was being thrust out into 
the world, as it were, while still at their own hearth. 



I marked with my eye a low, easy sewing-chair 
for my wife and a rose geranium, full of bloom, 
for Mousie, purposing to bid on them. I also 
observed that Junior was examining several pots 
of flowers that stood in the large south window. 
Then giving Merton charge of the children, with 
directions not to lose sight of them a moment. 1 
went to the barn-yard and stable, feeling that the 
day was a critical one in our fortunes. True 
enough, among the other stock there was a nice- 
looking" cow with a calf, and Mr. Jones said she 
had Jersey blood in her veins. This meant rich 
creamy milk. I thought the animal had a rather 
ugly eye, but this might be caused by anxiety for 
her calf, with so many strangers about. We 
also examined the old bay horse and a market 
wagon and harness. Then Mr. Jones and I drew 
apart and agreed upon the limit of his bids, for I 
proposed to act solely through him. Every one 
knew him and was aware that he would not go a 
cent beyond what a thing was worth. 

At ten o'clock the sale began. The auctioneer 
was a rustic humorist, who knew the practical 
value of a joke in his business. Aware of many 
of the foibles and characteristics of the people who 
flocked around and after him, he provoked many a 
ripple and roar of laughter by his telling hits and 
droll speeches. I found that my neighbor, Mr. 
Jones, came in for his full share, but he always 
sent back as good as he received. The sale, in 
fact, had the aspect of a country merry-making, at 
which all sorts and conditions of people met on a 
common ground and bid against one another, while 
boys and clogs innumerable worried and played 
about and sometimes verged on serious quarrels. 

At noon there was an immense pot of coffee, 
with crackers and cheese, placed on a table near 
the kitchen door, and we had a free lunch. 

The day came to an end at last, and the cow 
and calf, the old bay horse, the wagon, and the 
harness were mine. On the whole, Mr. Jones had 
bought them at reasonable rates. He also secured 
for me a good collection of poultry that looked 
fairly well in their coops. 

For my part, I had secured the chair and bloom- 
ing geranium. To my surprise, when the rest of 
the flowers were sold, Junior took part in the bid- 
ding for the first time, and, as a result, carried out 
to the wagon several other pots of house-plants. 

"Why, Junior," I said, "I didn't know you 
had such an eye for beauty." 

He blushed, but made no reply. 

The coops of chickens and also the harness were 
put into Mr. Jones's conveyance, the wagon I had 
bought was tied on behind, and we jogged home- 
ward, the children exulting over our new posses- 
sions. When I took in the geranium bush and put 

it on the table by the sunny kitchen window, Junior 
followed with an armful of his plants. 

" They 're for Mousie," he said ; and before the 
delighted child could thank him he darted out. 

Indeed, it soon became evident that Mousie was 
Junior's favorite. She never said much to him, 
but she looked a great deal. To the little invalid 
girl he seemed the embodiment of strength and 
cleverness, and, perhaps, because he was so strong, 
his sympathies went out toward the feeble child. 

The coops of chickens were carried to the base- 
ment that we had prepared, and Winnie declared 
that she meant to " hear the first crow and get the 
first egg." 

The next day the horse and the cow and calf 
were brought over, and we felt that we were fairly 
launched in our country life. 

" You have a bigger family to look after out- 
doors than I have indoors." my wife said, laugh- 

It was evident that, from some cause, the cow 
was wild and vicious. One of my theories is that 
all animals can be subdued by kindness. Mr. 
Jones advised me to dispose of Brindle, but I 
determined to test my theory first. Several times 
a day I would go to the barn-yard and give her a 
carrot or a wisp of hay from my hand, and she 
gradually became accustomed to me, and would 
come at my call. A week later I sold her calf 
to a butcher, and for a few days she lowed and 
mourned deeply, greatly to Mousie's distress. But 
carrots consoled her, and within three weeks she 
grew gentle to all of us. I believe she had been 
treated harshly by her former owners. 

Spring was coming on apace, and we all made 
the most of every pleasant hour. The second day 
after the auction proved a fine one ; and leav- 
ing Winnie and Merton in charge of the house, I 
took my wife, with Bobsey and Mousie, who was 
well bundled up, to see the scientific grape- 
grower, and to do some shopping. At the same 
time, we assured ourselves that Ave were having a 
pleasure-drive ; and it did me good to see how the 
mother and daughter, who had been kept indoors 
so long, enjoyed themselves. Mr. Jones was right. 
I received better and clearer ideas of vine-pruning 
in half an hour from studying those that had been 
properly trimmed, and by asking questions of a 
practical man, than I could ever have obtained by 
reading. We found that the old bay horse jogged 
along, at as good a gait as we could expect, over 
the muddy road, and I was satisfied that he was 
so quiet that my wife could safely drive him after 
she had learned how, and had gained a little con- 
fidence. She held the reins as we returned. 

When we sat down to supper, I was glad to see 
that a little color was dawning in Mousie's face. 



The bundles we brought home supplemented 
our stores of needful articles, and our life began 
to take on a regular routine. The carpenter came 
and put up the shelves, and made such changes as 
my wife desired ; then he aided me in repairing the 
out-buildings. I finished pruning the trees, while 
Merton worked manfully at the raspberries, for we 
saw that this was a far more pressing task than 
gathering wood, which could be done to better ad- 
vantage in the late autumn. Every morning Win- 
nie and Bobsey were kept steadily busy in carrying 

pruned and the grape-vines trimmed and tied up, 
and had given Merton a great deal of help among 
the raspberries. In shallow boxes of earth on the 
kitchen table, cabbage, lettuce, and tomato seeds 
were sprouting beside Mousie's plants, the little 
girl hailing with delight every yellowish-green 
germ that appeared above the soil. 

The first day of April promised to be unusually 
dry and warm, and I said at the breakfast table : 

" This is to be a great day. We '11 prove that 
we are not April-fools by beginning our garden. 


our trimmings to the brush-heap, which now began 
to assume vast proportions, especially as the prim- 
ings from the grape-vines and raspberry bushes 
were added to it. As the ground became settled 
after the frost was out, I began to set the stakes 
by the side of such raspberry canes as needed 
tying up ; and here was a new light task for the two 
younger children. Bobsey's little arms could go 
around the canes and hold them close to the stake, 
while Winnie, a sturdy child, quickly tied them 
with a coarse, cheap string that I had bought for 
the purpose. Even my wife came out occasionally 
and helped us at this work. By the end of the 
last week in March I had all the fruit trees fairly 

I suppose I shall make mistakes, but I wish you all 
to see how I do it, and then by next spring we shall 
have learned from experience how to do better. 
Merton and I will get out the seeds. By ten 
o'clock, Mousie, if the sun keeps out of the clouds, 
you can put on your rubbers and join us." 

Soon all was bustle and excitement, in antici- 
pation of the seed-planting. 

Among my seeds were two quarts of red and two 
of white onion sets, or tiny onions, which I had kept 
in a cool place, so that they should not sprout 
before their time. These I took out first. I 
marked off along strip of the sunnv slope, making 
the strip about fifteen feet wide, and manured it 




evenly and thickly. I then dug until my back 
ached ; and I found that it began to ache very 
soon, for I was not accustomed to such toil. 

" After the first seeds are in," I muttered, "I 
will have the rest of the garden plowed." 

When I had dug down about four feet of the 
strip, I concluded to rest myself by a change of 
labor ; so I took the rake and smoothed off the 
ground, stretched a garden line across it, and, with 
a sharp-pointed hoe, made a shallow trench or drill. 

"Now, Winnie and Bobsey," I said, "it is 
time for you to do your part. Just stick these 
little onions in the trench about four inches 
apart ; " and I gave each of them a little stick of 
the right length to measure the distance ; for they 
had but vague ideas of four inches. " Be sure," I 
continued, " that you get the bottom of the onion 
down. This is the top, and this is the bottom. 
Press the onion in the soil just enough to make it 
stand firm, so. That 's right. Now I can rest, 
you see, while you do the planting." 

In a few moments they had stuck the fifteen 
feet of shallow trench or drill full of onions, which 
I at once covered with earth, packing it lightly 
with my hoe. I then moved the line fourteen inches 
farther down and made another shallow drill. In 
this way we soon had all the onion sets in the 
ground. We next sowed, in even shallower drills, 
the little onion seed that looked like gunpowder, 
for my garden book said that the earlier this was 
planted the better. We had only completed a few 
rows, when Mr. Jones appeared, and said : 

" Plantin' onions here? Why, neighbor, this 
ground is too dry and light for onions." 

" Is that so ? Well, I knew I 'd make mistakes," 
I said. 

" Oh, well, no great harm 's done," he replied. 
"You 've made the ground rich, and, if we have 
a moist season, like enough they '11 do well. I came 
over to say that if this weather holds a day or two 
longer, I '11 plow the garden ; and I thought I 'd 
tell you, so that you might get ready for me. The 
sooner you plant your early potatoes the better, and 
a plow beats a fork all hollow. You '11 know what 
I mean when you see my plow going down to the 
beam and loosenin' the ground from fifteen to 
twenty inches. So burn your big brush-pile, and 
I '11 be ready when you are." 

" All right. Thank you ! I '11 just plant some 
radishes,. peas, and beans." 

"No beans yet, Mr. Durham. Don't put those 
in till the last of the month, and plant them very 
shallow when you do." 

" How one forgets when there's not much ex- 
perience to fall back upon ! I now remember that 
my book said that beans, in this latitude, should 
not be planted until about the first of May." 

(To be I 

" And lima beans not till the tenth of May," 
added Mr. Jones. " You might put in a few early 
beets here, although the ground is rather light for 
'em. You could put your main crop somewhere 
else. Well, let me know when you are ready. 
Junior and I are drivin' things, too, this mornin' ; " 
and he stalked away, whistling a hymn-tune in 
rather lively time. 

I said: " Youngsters, I think I '11 get my gar- 
den book and be sure I 'm right about sowing the 
radish and beet seed and the peas. Mr. Jones has 
rather shaken my confidence." 

In a short while Merton and I had several rows 
of radishes and beets sown, fourteen inches apart. 
We planted the seed only an inch deep, and packed 
the ground lightly over it. Mousie, to her great 
delight, was allowed to drop a few of the seeds. 
Merton was ambitious to take the fork, but I ad- 
vised him not to, and said : " Digging is too heavy 
work for you, my boy. There is enough that you 
can do-without overtaxing yourself. We all must act 
like good soldiers. The campaign of work is just 
opening, and it would be very foolish for any of us 
to disable ourselves at the start. We '11 plant only 
half a dozen rows of these dwarf peas this morn- 
ing, and then this afternoon we '11 have the bon- 
fire and make ready for Mr. Jones's plow." 

At the prospect of the bonfire the younger chil- 
dren set up shouts of exultation, which cheered me 
on as I turned over the soil with the fork, although 
often stopping to rest. My back ached, but my 
heart was light. In my daily work now I had all 
my children about me, and their smaller hands 
were helping in the most practical way. A soft 
spring haze half obscured the mountains and mel- 
lowed the sunshine. From the springing grass 
and fresh turned soil came odors sweet as those 
which made Eden fragrant after "a mist went up 
from the earth and watered the whole face of the 

All the children helped to plant the peas, which 
we placed carefully and evenly, an inch apart, in 
the row, and covered with two inches of soil, the 
rows being two feet distant one from another. I 
had decided to plant chiefly McLean's Little Gem, 
because they needed neither stakes nor brush for 
support. We were almost through our task when, 
happening to look toward the house, I saw my 
wife standing in the doorway, a framed picture. 

" Dinner," she called, in a voice as sweet to me 
as that of the robin singing in a cherry-tree over 
her head. 

The children stampeded for the house, Winnie 
crying : " Hurry, Mamma, and let us get through, 
for Papa says that after dinner he '11 set the great 
brush-pile on fire, and we 're going to dance around 
it like Indians ! You must come out, too !" 



I N P K I M R (J S K 'J' I M E . 



/■:;,■;, / 

RPlfo , yjyy ^/^lyfs 


(Early Spring in Ireland.*) 

By Mrs. S. M. B. Piatt. 

Here 'S the lodge-woman in her great cloak coming, 

And her white cap. What joy 
Has touched the ash-man ? On my word, he 's humming 

A boy's song, like a boy ! 
He quite forgets his cart. His donkey grazes 

Just where it likes the grass. 
The red-coat soldier, with his medal, raises 

His hat to all who pass; 
And the blue-jacket sailor, — hear him whistle, 

Forgetting Ireland's ills! 
Oh, pleasant land — (who thinks of thorn or thistle?) 

Upon your happy hills 
The world is out ! And, faith, if I mistake not, 

The world is in its prime 
(Beating for once, I think, with hearts that ache not) 

In Primrose time. 

Against the sea-wall leans the Irish beauty, 

With face and hands in bloom, 
Thinking of anything but household duty 

In her thatched cabin's gloom ; — 
Watching the ships as leisurely as may be, 

Her blue eyes dream for hours. 
Hush! There's her mother — coming with the baby 

In the fair quest of flowers. 
And her grandmother! — hear her laugh and chatter, 

Under her hair frost-white ! 
Believe me, life can be a merry matter, 

And common folk polite, 
And all the birds of heaven one of a feather, 

And all their voices rhyme, — 
They sing their merry songs, like one, together, 

In Primrose time. 

Vol. XII. 

The magpies fly in pairs (an evil omen 

It were to see but one) ; 
The snakes — but here, though, since St. Patrick, no man 

Has seen them in the sun; 

* Sec page 554. 




The white lamb thinks the black lamb is his brother, 

And half as good as he ; 
The rival carmen all love one another, 

And jest, right cheerily ; 
The compliments among the milkmen savor 

Of pale gold blossoming ; 
And everybody wears the lovely favor 

Of our sweet Lady Spring. 
And though the ribbons in a bright procession 

Go toward the chapel's chime, — 
Good priest, there be but few sins for confession 

In Primrose time. 

How all the children in this isle of faery 

Whisper and laugh and peep ! 
(Hush, pretty babblers ! Little feet be wary, 

You '11 scare them in their sleep, — 
The wee, weird people of the dew, who wither 

Out of the sun, and lie 
Curled in the wet leaves, till the moon comes hither. ) - 

The new-made butterfly 
Forgets he was a worm. The ghostly castle, 

On its lone rock and gray, 
Cares not a whit for either lord or vassal 

Gone on their dusty way, 
But listens to the bee, on errands sunny. — 

A thousand years of crime 
May all be melted in a drop of honey 

In Primrose time ! 

.88 5 . 1 




By Alice Maude Eddy. 

" But there was a maiden knight once ! " said 
Letty, with her brown eyes full of tears. 

"Sir Lancelot" and "Sir Gareth," otherwise 
Jack and Harry, paused in their tilt, and gazed at 
their little sister in amazement. 

" There was," persisted Letty, resolutely, though 
with a quivering lip. " I read all about her in one 
of Papa's books. Her name was Britomartis, and 
she had long golden hair that fell down when she 
took her helmet off, and — and she conquered 

"Go on and tell us all about it," said Harry, 
dropping his sword. Letty was always finding 
entertaining stories in books that neither of the 
boys would have thought of opening. It was she 
who had told them about the Round Table, and 
had set them to reading for themselves the won- 
derful adventures of Lancelot and Gareth, of 
Tristram, and Galahad, and Alisander. It was 
rather hard that she should be shut out from the 
fascinating games that grew out of these researches 
into the " Mortc d'Arthur," simply because she 
was a girl. The boys were quite willing that their 
sister should take the part of the distressed lady 
for whom they should fight ; but sitting on a rag- 
bag and crying out, "Oh, Sir Lancelot, thou 
flower of knighthood, succor a forlorn lady ! " 
was entirely beneath Letty's ambition, and even 
the more active part of gracefully waving a hand- 
kerchief during a tournament, and tying her hair- 
ribbon about the helmet of the conqueror, failed to 
satisfy her desires. It was with a decided sense 
of injury that Letty went on with her story. 

"Yes, she conquered every knight that she 
fought, and she was always helping ladies and 
everybody that needed her, and she was the 
strongest and most beautiful knight in Fairy-land." 

" Fairy-land ! " exclaimed Harry. " Was it just 
a fairy story ? That does n't count ! " 

" It was lovely poetry ! " said Letty, indignantly, 
"and King Arthur was in it too, so it counts just 
as much as anything." 

"If it was poetry, it was n't true," said Jack, 
conclusively. " I thought it did n't sound very 
true! Great idea that — of a woman conquering 
all the knights ! I 'd just like to see a girl that was 
braver than a boy ! Come, Harry, let 's go on 
playing ! ' Gay Sir Knight, wilt thou ride a tilt with 
me?'" And the boys careered wildly about the 
garret on their invisible chargers, leaving Letty 
to amuse herself as she could until school-time. 

1 1 was a beautiful May morning. The grass along 
the roadside was white with daisies, as the children 
ran to school. Tilts and tournaments were for- 
gotten, under the clear blue sky, with the soft wind 
tossing Letty's fair hair, while Jack chased butter- 
flies, and Harry blew off the feathery dandelion- 
tops to see which way he should go to seek his 
fortune. They stopped as they passed the rail- 
way bridge to look at the lily-pads in the marshy 
water below it, and to prophesy how long it would 
be before they could come there to gather the 
lilies ; and then they went on to school as usual. 

They did not dream that none of the three 
would ever pass that place in the same careless 
way again, nor that the commonplace row of rail- 
way sleepers would be made beautiful for them 
forever after that day by a deed that was finer and 
fairer than even the snowy lilies which blossomed 
below it in the summer-time. 

They had just reached the turn of the road 
which passed the bridge, on their way home, that 
afternoon, when Letty heard a child's cry. A very 
little girl, not more than four years old, stood in 
the middle of the bridge looking helplessly from 
one bank to the other. It was not a long distance 
across, and the water below was not deep, but the 
child was evidently frightened, and it was not in 
Letty's nature to pass any one in trouble without 
trying to help. 

"What's the matter? "she called. "Wait a 
minute, boys ! How did she ever get there ? " 

" I can't get off," wailed the child. " I 'm 
afraid. Oh, please come and help me ! " 

"Stand still, then, and I will," called Letty 
again, beginning to step carefully from one sleeper 
to another. 

Jack and Harry never forgot the next few 
minutes. It seemed as if a flash of lightning had 
engraved the whole picture on their hearts, so 
vividly could they recall it long after. 

The railway track made a sharp turn out of the 
woods across the bridge, and passed them leading 
down toward the village. The afternoon sun 
shone through the trees on the farther bank, and 
flecked with light the little figure of the sobbing 
child, who was waiting for Letty. She had on a 
pink apron, and her hair was brown and curly. 
Jack noticed a great red butterfly over Letty's 
head as she stepped on the third sleeper. Then a 
rumbling sound, growing louder and louder, be- 
yond made him cry out in terror, to his sister : 




" Letty ! Letty ! come back! The train! the 
train ! " 

There it was, like a great fiery dragon, sweeping 
around the turn ; and there was Letty on the 
bridge, and the little girl nearer to the opposite 
shore. It all happened in a moment. Letty gave 
a great gasp. The boys heard it, and saw her 
pause as if to turn back, and then, full in the face 
of the coming train, timid Letty sprang on toward 
the stranger child, and caught her in her arms, just 
as the engine, which had 
slackened speed, but 
could not stop before 
reaching them, rolled 
upon the bridge. Harry 
screamed wildly ; Jack 
shut his eyes and dropped 
on the grass with a great 
sob. There was a rush and 
rumble, which seemed 
ages long, a shriek from 
the engine, and then the 
place was still again. 
When Jack opened his 
eyes he saw that the train 
had stopped as soon as it 
reached the shore ; that a 
brakeman,with Harry fol- 
lowing him, was half-way 
down the bridge; and be- 
yond them Jack saw Letty 
herself, but crouched on 

the sleepers outside the track, with the brown head 
of the other child lying on her arm. They were both 
very still. " Dead !" thought Jack, with a sudden 
wild feeling that he loved Letty dearly, and wanted 
her to be with him all his life, and that he had not 
been kind to her that morning in the garret. 

"Mamma," said Harry, afterward, " when we 
got them off the bridge and found they were n't 
either of them hurt, but only terribly frightened, 
Jack and I both sat down and cried ! But Letty 
was crying so hard herself that she did n't notice it ; 
and don't you tell ! " 

That evening, as Letty lay pale and quiet, but 
very happy, in her bed, whither she had retired 
much earlier than usual, Jack stole in with his 
sword in his hand. It was a black-walnut sword, 
with a brown silk cord and tassel on the hilt, and 
Jack was very proud of it. He sat down on the 
other side of the bed and held it out to Letty, in an 
embarrassed manner. 

"You're the bravest girl I ever heard of ! " he 
said, hurriedly; "and I '11 just own up and say 
that I never would have dared to do what you 
did, — and besides, I think so much of you, Letty, — 

and poetry does count, too, — and you can have 
my sword and be any knight you please, and I '11 
never be mean to you again. So there, now ! " 

" It was to help the little girl that I went," said 
Letty, with a joyous smile; "and I know you 
would have gone on, too, if you 'd been on the 
bridge ; so you need n't say I 'm braver than you 
are. And I know it will be more fun for all of us 
if you and Harry let me play with you ; and I love 
you dearly, Jack ! " 

Jack looked sheepish, but pleased. 

"I '11 dub you knight myself, if you like," he 
said. "People used to like to have Sir Lancelot 
dub them knight." 

And so, with some laughter and much enjoy- 
ment, the ceremony was performed at once ; and 
when Mamma came in, a few minutes later, she 
found the little maiden-knight lying asleep, with 
the sword in her hand, and a look of such gladness 
in her face, that the tears sprung to the mother's 
eyes as she thought of what might have been. 

i8s 5 .; 




'<#/ v< ^ '' 


By J. T. Trowbridge. 

Chapter XVI. 

Elsie Benting was thrilled with something 
deeper than surprise by the expression of Kit's 
face and the tone of his voice. 

"You are no more of a highwayman than my 
brothers?" she exclaimed. "Why, how can that 

"I took their horse," he said, " and now they 
have taken me. It 's a mistake on both sides. I 
took the horse by mistake, and they have taken 
me by mistake, while I was on my way back with 
it to Peaceville." And his eyes beamed upon her 
with convincing candor. 

" How could you ever make such a mistake as 
that ? " she inquired, trying to remain incredu- 
lous, while her heart felt the earnest truthfulness 
which inspired such looks and tones. 

" My uncle's horse had been stolen the night be- 
fore, and I found it in one of the sheds at the 
cattle-show. I left a fellow to watch it — a scamp 

named Branlow ; I ought to have known better, 
but he used to work for my father, and he ap- 
peared so friendly that I thought I could trust him. 
I went to get something to eat, and when I came 
back he put me on the horse in the next shed, 
which he had saddled and bridled, instead of 
mine. It was quite dark ; both horses are of nearly 
the same color ; and I rode off in so great a hurry 
that I never noticed the difference until I reached 
home. I think now that it was Branlow who stole 
our horse, and that he played the trick on me, 
knowing just how big a blunderhead I am ! " 

" You a blunderhead ? " said Elsie, with a smile 
at his eager, intelligent face. 

He could not help smiling in return, rather rue- 
fully, however. 

"Does n't what I tell you prove it?" answered 
Kit. " If you had put me on the Peaceville race- 
course yesterday, and picked out the champion 
blunderers of America to match me, I should 
have come out several lengths ahead. That 's 




what my uncle thinks, at any rate ; and no 
wonder ! " 

" The man you speak of must be the one who 
claimed that you had stolen his saddle and bridle," 
said Elsie. 

" Oh, the scoundrel ! " exclaimed Kit. " Did 
he claim that? " And he described Branlow's ap- 

"The very same!" said Elsie. "I knew he 
was a rogue, by the way he talked — so smooth 
and plausible ! And my brothers were afterward 
convinced of it," 

" I am glad he is caught ! " said Kit. 

" Caught ? " said Elsie. 

She had seated herself opposite him, and they 
were now conversing face to face, across the table. 

" Your brothers said he was," replied Kit. 
"And they talked as if he and I had been stealing 
horses together ! " 

"That's what they inferred; and it certainly 
looked as if you were in company with him," said 
Elsie. "But this is the first I have heard of his 
being caught." 

" See here, Elsie ! " called Tom, from the other 
room. When she appeared in the door-way, he 
beckoned her to come nearer, and whispered, 
" What are you talking with that fellow for ? He 's 
fibbing to you, with every word he says." 

" I am afraid somebody has been fibbing to 
him," she replied, with a quiet sparkle in her 
moist eyes. " You never told us at home here of 
that other fellow's having been caught." 

"That 's bosh, of course," said Tom. " I 
thought I might frighten this one into owning up, 
if I let him think that the other one had done so." 

" I don't believe he has anything more to own 
up to than what he has been telling me," said 
Elsie. " You heard it?" 

"Yes," Tom answered, carelessly; " and it 's 
nothing new. He tried the story on us before ; 
but when we catch a thief in the very act of riding 
away on our horse, we are not to be fooled by any 
such pretense; are we, Lon?" 

"Oh, you are not, are n't you?" she replied, 
with keen satire. " Who was fooled last night by 
the other one, as you call him ? And who was the 
first to understand him?" 

" Of course, you were right, in his case," Tom 

"And so am I right now," she averred. "I 
am just as sure that this boy is honest as I was that 
that man was a rogue." 

" He may be," said Lon, shoving his chair back 
from the table. " But his saying so does n't make 
him so." 

" His being so makes him so ; and that 's what 
I say," Elsie insisted, in a voice loud enough for 

Kit to hear in the next room. "Talk about his 
surly, hang-dog look, Tom ! He has as open, 
honest a face as you have ; and you can't wonder 
that he appeared a little surly, after your treatment 
of him. How would you look in his place, do 
you suppose? Not very angelic, I imagine." 

" How could we treat him any differently ?" Tom 
asked. "If you are going to take every rogue's 
explanation, when he is caught, for gospel truth, 
I fancy few thieves would be brought to justice." 

'• That 's so ! " said Charley. 

" Come, boys," said Lon, not deeming it worth 
while to argue the matter further. " You never 
can tell anything by what a rogue says. There 's 
only one thing you can rely upon : and that 's 
evidence. If his story is true, he '11 have a chance 
to prove it." 

He had risen from the table ; his brothers fol- 
lowed his example. 

" I 've no doubt that he will be able to prove it," 
Elsie persisted in saying. "But think what he 
may have to suffer first ! You wont put him in 
jail, will you ? " 

"That will depend upon what the judge says, 
and not upon us at all," said Lon. " We have no 
right to keep him a prisoner here, at any rate, any 
longer than is necessary." 

"Wait, at least, until father comes home!" 

Elsie was fairly pleading Kit's cause by this time. 

"We shall probably meet him on the way," 
replied Lon. 

" He has n't eaten anything yet," said Elsie. 

" 1 'm sure that 's his own fault, then," said 
Tom. " He might have been eating when he was 
telling you fibs." 

"Promise, at any rate, that you wont tie his 
hands again," was Elsie's answer. 

" We wont tie him if he behaves himself," said 
Lon. "Come, my boy!" laying his hand on 
Kit's shoulder. 

Kit rose with a fluttering heart. 

" I don't suppose there 's any use of my telling 
you again what I 've told you before," he said, 
indulging a faint hope that Elsie's intercession 
might have changed her brothers' intentions 
toward him. 

" Not a bit of use," Lon answered, kindly 
enough, but firmly. " We '11 give you a full and 
fair chance to tell it to the judge ; but that 's all 
we can do." 

' ' Well ! you have been good to me ! " said Kit, 
his voice quivering, and his eyes glistening, as he 
turned a grateful look on Elsie. " Some time," he 
added, choking a little, and then resolutely mas- 
tering the passion that swelled his heart, "you '11 
know that what I have told you is true, and then 
you wont be sorry you took my part." 



" I know it well enough now," she replied, as 
Lon led him away ; " but don't blame my brothers 
too much." 

" Oh, I don't blame them ! " 

Kit mounted to the wagon-seat with Lon and 
Tom ; and as he rode away amid the tall tree-trunks 
of the sunlit grove, he took off his base-ball cap to 
her, in a bar of the golden light, a smile of tender 
brightness suddenly irradiating his anxious face, as 
he looked back at her, while his lips shaped an in- 
audible " Good-bye ! " 

Chapter XVII. 

That last smile of the captive lingered long with 
Elsie Benting, as she stood in the door of the old 
farm-house, while the wagon that bore him with 
Lon and Tom — (Charley rode on horse-back) — 
disappeared up the road beyond the grove. 

She hoped that they would meet her father be- 
fore reaching the magistrate's office, and that he 
also would be quickly convinced of Kit's innocence. 
But when they had been gone adout half an hour, 
Mr. Benting, with her mother, returned home by 
another road. 

They had seen nothing of the boys; and now Elsie 
had the surprising news to relate of her brothers' 
having found the horse, and their having stopped 
at home with the little rider in the white cap, on 
their way to Duckford village. 

" But he 's no more a horse-thief than I am ! " 
she asserted. " He is just a bashful boy. You 
should have seen how he blushed when I was talk- 
ing to him ! *It 's a strange story he tells, but I 
believe every word of it." 

Mr. Benting, a tall man with white whiskers, 
and exceedingly pleasant eyes peering out from 
under bushy gray brows, stood by his buggy wheel 
at the door, looking down with a sort of humorous 
interest at the young girl, telling with no little dra- 
matic effect the story of the supposed horse-thief. 

" And I think it is too bad, too cruel," she 
said at the end, " that the poor boy should have 
to go to jail ! " 

" It would be too bad, truly," Mr. Benting re- 
plied, laying his hand fondly on her shoulder, " if 
he is as innocent as you suppose. But it is n't a 
very probable story, Elsie ; now do you think it 
is? Consider a minute." 

" But while we are considering," said Elsie, 
"they are putting him in jail ! " 

"That, probably, is where he belongs, I 'm 
sorry to say," replied her father, with a quiet good 
humor, curiously in contrast with her excitement. 
" It 's just such a story as every rogue has at his 
tongue's end to explain away his roguery when 
he is caught in it." 

" I wish we had been at home," said Mrs. Bent- 
ing, as he helped her from the buggy. 

" So do I, for, after all, Elsie may be right. She 
is rather shrewd in her judgments of people. And 
I '11 tell you what I 'm going to do, little girl, to 
please you." (The paternal mouth puckered in a 
playful, affectionate smile.) " I am going to drive 
after the boys and see that they have made no 

"Oh, what a dear, delightful old Papa ! " Elsie 
cried, joyfully, putting up her face to kiss him. 

"You '11 have dinner first, wont you?" said 
Mrs. Benting. 

" Shall I?" (He gave a sidelong, teasing look 
at Elsie.) "Well, never mind about dinner for me 
till I come back. I think I shall know when I see 
the fellow, how big a rascal he is. Though I warn 
you at the outset, little one, that the boys are 
probably right about him." 

Entering the buggy as he spoke, he wheeled 
about among the trees, and disappeared up the 
dusty road. 

The hour Elsie had to wait for his return seemed 
interminable. But at last, going out for the 
twentieth time to take a peep from under the 
maples, she saw the buggy and the wagon coming, 
with Charley on General galloping before. 

Her father was alone in the buggy, but Lon and 
Tom were in the wagon. Where, then, was the 
youthful prisoner whom she had confidently ex- 
pected to see returning with them? 

" What did I tell you? " cried Charley, driving 
up under the trees. "The idea of your taking 
the part of such a fellow ! " 

Her face, bright at first with expectation, had 
assumed a shade of doubt, which now deepened to 
disappointment and dismay. 

"Now, Charley," she remonstrated, " don't say 
that ! What have you done with him ? " 

"Ask Father," replied Charley. "He'll tell 
you he had only to look at him to be perfectly 
sure of the kind of character he is." 

"Don't tell me, Charles Benting!" exclaimed 
his sister, " that Father thought as badly of him as 
you boys did ; I never will believe it ! " 

"He does think as badly of him as we do," he 
insisted, with a change of tense which she failed 
to notice. "And the judge " 

As he slipped off the horse he was careful to turn 
away his face, on which was a struggling smile he 
did not wish her to see. 

" What did lie say ? " she demanded. 

" He said it was a perfectly clear case. Stolen 
horse found in the possession of the boy who was 
seen to take it and ride it away, — there was only 
one thing to be done about it." 

"What was that? " 




" Commit him to jail, of course." 

" Oh, he did n't ! " said the indignant Elsie. 

" Yes, he did ; sober truth !" Charley insisted. 
"Ask the boys; ask Father. Say, boys," — to Lou 
and Tom, just then driving up, — " did n't the 
judge say it was a clear case and that he must go 
to jail? And does n't Father think of him just as 
we do ? She wont believe a word I say ! " 

Lon and Tom were laughing. Mr. Benting's 
face likewise wore a good-humored smile as he 
drove up and heard the controversy. Getting no 
satisfaction from her brothers, she appealed to him. 

"Well, yes, my dear," he said, "I think my 

of the Duckford justice, whom they had the luck to 
find al<Jhe at his desk and just thinking of going 
home to his dinner. Charley rode on to find a 
constable, while Lon and Tom went in and made 
oath to their complaint against the prisoner. 

It seemed, indeed, a perfectly clear case ; and 
the magistrate was impatient to sniff the odors of 
the roast beef which he knew was just then com- 
ing out of the home oven. He gave little heed 
and less belief to the boy's story; but promised 
that he should have ample opportunity to bring 
proof of it, at the hearing which he appointed for 
the following dav. 


opinion of that boy is about the same as theirs. 
And the judge did commit him to jail. Charley 
has told you nothing but the truth ; but he has n't 
told you quite all the truth. Why do you persist 
in teasing your sister, Charles ? " he added, in a 
tone of not very severe reproof. 

" To punish her for crowing over us, as she will 
when she hears the rest," Charley made answer. 

" Oh, tell me, Father ! " cried the eager Elsie. 

And he told briefly what it is now time for us to 
relate a little more in detail. 

The boys, finding they had missed their father 
on the way to the village, proceeded to the office 

" Suppose I can't get my friends here by that 
time ? " queried Kit. 

" The hearing may be postponed, in that case. 
You can employ counsel, and the court will do 
everything for you that is deemed necessary and 

With these words the judge rose from his seat, 
putting on his hat ; and Kit, for want of bail, was 
marched out in charge of the constable. 

He was thinking dejectedly of the strait to which 
his blundering had at last brought him ; the deg- 
radation of being put into the lock-up ; the expanse 
of a lawyer ; the difficulty of getting Uncle Gray 



or any one else to come and testify in his behalf; 
the distress of his widowed mother, and the amuse- 
ment or disgust of enemies and friends, when they 
should hear of his predicament ; with all the 
wretchedness of uncertainty and delay in the dis- 
entanglement of this dreadful snarl in which he- 
had enwound himself; — he was thinking of all this, 
as he walked away with the officer, when a voice 
called out : 

" Wait a minute ! " 

It was the voice of Lon Benting. 

Lon and his brothers had found time to cool off, 
after the first flush of victory ; and Elsie's more 
favorable opinion of the prisoner was beginning to 
influence them. Then Kit's straightforward recital 
of his story to the judge, without contradiction of 
his previous statements in the least particular, 
shook their boyish self-confidence, and caused 
them to look furtively at one another, with mis- 
givings which each tried to conceal. 

In short, the more they saw of Kit, the less of a 
villain he appeared to be, and the more they dis- 
trusted their suspicions. It was not half the satisfac- 
tion they had anticipated to see him led away to 
the lock-up. Lon and Tom, especially, were feeling 
the weight of their responsibility in the doubtful 
business, when they were vastly relieved at sight 
of a well-known buggy coming down the street. 

" It 's Father ! " Tom said to the justice, who was 
again on the point of hurrying off to his dinner. 
"He will want to see you." 

Mr. Benting being a citizen whom every one 
was glad to oblige, the magistrate paused reluc- 
tantly, and stood by his door while the buggy 
drove up to it. The officer also stopped, a few 
paces off, with his prisoner. There were a few 
spectators, who had witnessed the scene in the 
office, and more were gathering; men walking 
leisurely across the street, and boys in the distance 
running and shouting. 

"What 's going on here?" said Mr. Benting, 
drawing rein. " You 've got General, I see, boys ! " 
eying the horse with satisfaction. "And the 
rogue — is that the rogue?" peering out from 
under his bushy gray brows at the little captive. 

" All that we know about him is that we caught 
him riding our horse away," said Tom. 

"How much of a rogue he is," added Lon, 
" remains to be proved." 

Kit could not help noticing the changed man- 
ner toward him of Elsie's big, obstinate brothers. 
Very different now the tone which had been so bois- 
terous, and the judgment which had been so stern. 

" How is it, Judge ? " Mr. Benting inquired. 

" There seemed abundant evidence to justify a 
commitment," the judge explained. 

Mr. Benting alighted from his buggy, and 

stood looking down searchingly at the miserable 

Conscious of the scrutiny, and aware of many 
eyes fixed upon him, looking for signs of guilt in 
his burning face, poor Kit was very much abashed. 
His head was hot, his temples were throbbing, his 
cheeks on fire ; and to save his life he could not 
have kept his suffused eyes from falling, before 
Mr. Benting's searching gaze. First they dropped 
from that gentleman's eyes to his white whiskers; 
then went down his coat-front button by button ; 
switched off on the right leg, descended that to 
the boot, and so glided to the ground. 

The very necessity he felt of standing up stoutly, 
and answering the gaze of Elsie's father with an 
air of open innocence, helped to betray him into 
this appearance of guilt. He was angry with him- 
self, for his blushes and weak eyes ; and with 
quick, fierce breath, and teeth set hard, he strug- 
gled to regain his self-control. 

" Come ! " said Mr. Benting, eying him with an 
expression of keen curiosity tempered by humor- 
ous compassion, "tell me frankly just how much 
of a rogue you are." 

Chapter XVIII. 

Then Kit looked up. He was himself again. 

" I 'm not used to being called a rogue," he re- 
plied ; "and I can't answer such a question as 

" But they say you were taken while riding away 
on my horse," said Mr. Benting. " How do you 
account for that ? " 

" I've explained, five or six times already, how 
that happened," said Kit, in a grieved and disap- 
pointed tone. "But I '11 explain once more, and 
be glad to, if it will do any good." 

Mr. Benting turned to the judge. 

" This is hardly the place to talk with him ; and, 
if you've no objection. I 'd like to see him a few 
minutes in your office." 

"Certainly," said the judge, with a despairing 
thought of his dinner. And again entering his 
office in company with Kit and the constable, Mr. 
Benting and Lon and Tom, he closed the door and 
shut out the crowd. 

There Mr. Benting sat down in a leather-cush- 
ioned chair, and in a kindly but searching manner 
questioned Kit, who stood before him, still flushed, 
but resolute. 

" I 've heard something of your story, and 1 
must say it has n't seemed to me very probable. 
But it may be true, for all that. ' Truth is stranger 
than fiction ' is an old saying, and a true one. 
Where did you mount my horse, when you mis- 
took him for your uncle's ? " 




" Under one of the cattle-sheds at the fair," said 

"As I remember them, those sheds are very 
low-roofed. I should have thought that you could 
not mount very comfortably under them." 

"I couldn't; I had to stoop. I hit my head 
as it was." Kit's voice was growing steady, his 
countenance more and more open, and now some- 
thing like a smile lighted it up as he added : "I 
remember how the oyster-crackers spilled out of 
my breast-pockets as I leaned over on the horse's 

" We found oyster-crackers scattered on the 
ground," said Lon, willing to corroborate this part 
of the boy's story. 

" Why did n't you lead the horse out before you 
mounted?" Mr. Benting inquired. '"It seems to 
me that that would have been the most natural 
thing to do." 

"So it would. But the fellow who helped me 
off had arranged everything. He did all he could to 
confuse me, and then he boosted me on the horse 
and hurried me off before I could see through his 
trick. Of course," Kit added, with beaming can- 
dor, " if he had let me lead the horse out from 
under the dark shed I should have noticed the 
difference between him and our Dandy." 

" Is Dandy the name of your horse ? " 

" Yes, sir ; Dandy Jim. It 's the name he had 
when my uncle bought him." Kit smiled again. 
" I don't suppose my uncle would have given a 
horse such a name as that." 

•■ Why not? " 

" I can hardly explain. Only Uncle Gray is n't 
the kind of man to think of that kind of name." 

" What sort of a man is he? " 

" Rather serious ; what you would call a prac- 
tical man ; not much nonsense about him." 

" It strikes me," remarked Mr. Bentmg, "that 
such a man — a practical man, as you call him — 
would have managed this affair a little differently 
when he found that a boy acting for him had 
brought home the wrong horse. I can hardly con- 
ceive of his allowing you to come alone to return 

" He would have come himself," replied Kit : 
'• he spoke of it — but he was sick this morning. 
And as I had made the blunder, I thought that I 
ought to correct it." 

" What 's his ailment ? " 

A peculiarly bright look flashed out of Kit's eyes 
as he answered, using the flat, vernacular pro- 
nunciation of the word : 

" 'Azmy.' That 's what Uncle and Aunt call it. 
He was chilled by the damp air, when he went out 
to look at the horse last night, and this morning 
he had a bumble-bees' nest in his throat." 

" What does he do for his asthma ? " Mr. Bent- 
ing inquired. 

" He shuts himself up in his room and burns 
an herb that has been steeped in saltpeter. The 
smoke would kill me," — Kit smiled again, — " but 
he thinks it cures him." 

Mr. Benting had several more questions to ask 
about the uncle and aunt, and the farm, and Kit's 
father and mother ; to all which he received such 
prompt and natural replies, often spiced with 
humor, that he was forced to conclude that so 
much, at least, of the boy's story was not all 
fiction. He then wished to know why Kit, who 
claimed to have been on his way to Peace- 
ville when captured, was first seen riding in the 
other direction. That brought out the story of 
the knife, which Mr. Benting asked to see. Ex- 
amining it, he found the letters C. D. engraved 
on the handle. 

" Are these your initials ? " he asked. 

" Yes, sir," replied Kit, who had already told 
his name, first to the Benting boys, then to the 
judge, and lastly to Mr. Benting himself. " They 
were my father's initials, too ; the knife used to 
belong to him. I thought more of it for that rea- 
son ; I never supposed it would be the means of 
getting me into trouble ! " 

Mr. Benting gave back the knife ; then he turned 
to the judge. 

'" I believe this is an honest boy," he said, " and 
if you will fix his bail at a reasonable figure, I 
will be his surety." 

" I am glad to hear it," said the judge, perhaps 
almost as much on Kit's account as out of regard 
for his dinner. 

A bond was quickly filled out and duly signed ; 
and Kit, to his great joy, was declared free to pro- 
ceed about his business until his presence should 
be again required by the court. 

"Now, the best thing you can do," said Mr. 
Benting, "is to go home with me and stay till 
you get over your fatigue and worry. I '11 promise 
you better treatment than you have received from 
my boys hitherto." 

Kit thought of Elsie and the charming old farm- 
house at Maple Park, with a thrill of pleasant an- 
ticipation. But the gleam that crossed his face 
was quickly succeeded by shadow. 

" 1 should be very glad indeed to do that," he 
replied. " But I must make one more attempt 
to find my uncle's horse, before I go anywhere to 

" How will you begin?" asked Mr. Benting. 

" I shall go to Peaceville, where I certainly saw 
him yesterday, and try to trace him from there. 
If your sons," Kit added, with a glance at Lon, 
" will tell me all they found out about the fellow 




they took to be my accomplice, and the horse he 
had, which was our Dandy, they may help me 
now as much as they have hindered me before." 

The eldest of the brothers thereupon endeavored 
to atone for the unintentional wrong they had done 
their late captive, by giving a true account of their 
adventure with Branlow the night before. 

" After we heard that he and you had been seen 
together, we believed that he was aiding and abet- 
ting you ; but we did n't follow him up. We left 
that for a policeman to do, while we made haste to 
hire another horse and get on the track of ours. 
When we last saw your man, he was going off in a 
buggy with the driver, who had bought your horse, 
leading it by a halter — to make a bill of sale of it, 
they said." 

Kit took the name of the policeman, who, he 
was told, would probably be on duty that after- 
noon, near the fair-ground entrance. He also 
asked if Mr. Benting would have any objection to 
giving him a line over his signature, stating that, 
his horse, supposed to be stolen, had been returned, 
having been taken by mistake. 

" What do you want to do with such a writing 
as that?" Mr. Benting asked, more and more 
pleased with the boy's modest manners, intelli- 
gence, and apparently honest intentions. 

" I want it to show, if there should be danger of 
my being taken up a second time for the same im- 
aginary offense," Kit answered, with shrewd good- 
humor. ' ' Your policeman will probably recognize 
me before I can explain myself; and he may clap 
me into jail without believing a word of my story." 

" I '11 make that all right," said his new friend. 

Mr. Benting borrowed the judge's pen (the 
judge had already escaped and gone to his roast 
beef), and wrote a paper, which he handed Kit, 
saying : 

" There ! I think that will keep you out of any 
more such tangles. I hope you will find your 
horse, and give us a call on your way back, or 
whenever you come this way again." 

He gave Kit his hand, with a pressure of the 
most cordial interest and good-will. Then Tom 
stepped up, and said: " There 's a man out here 
who lives two or three miles away, on the road to 
Peaceville. He is just going to start for home, 
and I think he will give this boy a ride. Sup- 
pose you speak to him, Father." 

The man, appealed to by the elder Benting, 
readily consented ; and Kit climbed into his 

wagon, thankful enough for his release from court 
and constable, and for this piece of good luck. 

The brothers said good-bye to him in quite 
friendly fashion ; and Lon begged his pardon for 
what he was now well convinced had been a blun- 
der on their part. 

" It 's a blunder all around ! " laughed Kit. 
" And a fellow that can make blunders as fast as I 
do, ought not to be very severe on others' mis- 

Father and sons stood watching him as he rode 

" If we had n't sent your hired horse back to 
Peaceville this morning," Mr. Benting remarked, 
" he might have had him to ride. It would have 
been just the thing for him." 

That reminded Lon of something. 

"Ho! hallo!" he called after Kit. "How 
about your saddle and bridle ? " 

Everybody had forgotten these until that mo- 

" Keep 'em till I come for them," Kit answered, 
looking back regretfully at the tall farmer stand- 
ing with his sons, and remembering the invitation 
he had declined, — an invitation which might have 
taken him back to Maple Park and the friendly 

So they returned home without him, and Char- 
ley teased his sister with half the truth, as we have 
seen ; and her father told the rest. 

" The judge did commit him to jail, my dear; 
but luckily I was there to offer bail for him before 
he was locked up. And it is true, — I had only to 
look at him to see the kind of character he is. 
But it would be better for the boys to say they 
have come around to my opinion, than that I think 
as they do about him. They think very differently 
now from the way they thought at first. You were 
quite right, Elsie, and they were quite wrong, or 
I am no judge of an honest boy." 

So saying, Mr. Benting stepped from the buggy. 

"And you have let him go free?" said the 
delighted Elsie. 

" I suppose it will amount to that," replied her 
father, "although he is under bonds to appear 
again if the court wants him." 

"Now why don't you 'crow' over us, Elsie?" 
laughed Charley. 

But Elsie, too deeply grateful for Kit's vindica- 
tion and release, to think of her own triumph, had 
no wish to " crow." 

(To be continued. ) 

5 o8 




(From the French of Floria?i.) 

By H. H. (Helen Jackson). 

Once on a time, in Kousistan, a Genie lived, whose name 
Was Alzim : Money free he gave, and help to all who came ; 
But first each man must promise the Genie to obey ; 
To use the gifts and seek his wealth precisely in the way 
The Genie said. No one could kneel before the Genie's 

Until he swore his life should be controlled by him 

There came to him, one day, four sons, whose 

father, when he died, — 
As they, grief-stricken, knelt by him, — with 

his last breath had cried : 
" The Genie Alzim will befriend you. Go 

at once to him. 
Beware, however," * * Here he 

paused ; his eye grew glazed and 

dim ; 
The hand of death his loving lips 

sudden forever sealed ; 
What warning he had meant to 

give could never be revealed. 
The Genie's help in haste the sons 

set out to seek and gain ; 
All Kousistan his palace knew — 

the way was short and plain. 
The oath required did not alarm 

the elder brothers three ; 
They thought so kind a Genie full 

of wisdom, too, must be. 
Not so the youngest, Tiii. He re- 
membered very well 
That all his life his father seemed 

beneath some evil spell, 
Though oft from Alzim's palace he 

returned with gifts of gold. 
So Tai stopped his ears with wax 

and went in deaf and bold, 
And with the rest knelt humbly 

down ; but not a single word 
Of all the rules the Genie gave to 

guide his life he heard. 
Now this was what the Genie said, 

in loving tones and sweet : 
" Dear children, all your luck in life 

depends on when you meet 
A being named Bathmendi, whom 

the whole world seeks to know, 
But few can find, because they never 

choose right ways to go. 

Now I, because I love you well, will whisper unto each 

The road, by following which, he will Bathmendi surely reach." 


To Bekir then, the eldest one, he said : " My son, in you 
Arc courage and a hero's soul. The arts of war pursue ! 
Go join the Persian army now. The king is brave and kind. 
Bathmcndi in the Persian camp I guarantee you '11 find." 

The second son, named Mesrou, then the Genie told to go 

To Ispahan. "Your traits," he said, "are plainly such as show 

A talent for success at court. Bathmendi waits you there." 

To Sadder then, the third, he turned, with smiles and friendly air. 
" And you," he said, "have fancy; see the world not as it is, 
But painted as by poets. You will find your dream of bliss 
In Agra, with the clever men and beauteous women, too. 
In Agra's halls, my dear young friend, Bathmendi waits for you." 

Thanks to the wax, young Tai heard no word the Genie spoke ; 
But never from his countenance his watchful gaze he took ; 
And frequent in the crafty eyes malicious gleams he saw, 
Which made him glad that he was free from such a Genie's law. 
Later, he heard it had to him been said that he must seek 
Bathmendi in the dervish life — devout and poor and meek. 

His brothers now in feverish haste made ready to forsake 
Their home, and instant search for that Bathmendi undertake. 
Young Tai bought the house and fields and bade them kind farewell ; 
But what the thoughts were in his heart, he was too wise to tell. 
Near by there dwelt the young Amine, beloved by Tai long ; 
Amine was good and simple-souled, without a thought of wrong. 
Each day she asked of God two things — to save her father's life 
Long years, and grant that she might be young Tai's happy wife. 
Amine and Tai wedded now. Their years flew by like days ; 
Amine's old father lived with them and taught them wisest ways 
Of farming ; flocks and herds increased, and children, too, apace ; 
The little house was running o'er — a happy, merry place. 

Meantime, the elder brothers journeyed long and far and wide. 
Bekir won fame ; his bravery was heralded and cried 
All Persia through. " Alzim was right," said Bekir; "here must be 
The place in which Bathmendi waits to bring success to me." 
Alas ! poor Bekir ! soon he found what envy and what hate 
For men who win such sudden fame must always lie in wait. 
The Satraps leagued against him ; soldiers played him false in fight ; 
With chains and fetters loaded down, in ignominious plight, 
In deepest, darkest dungeons thrown, poor Bekir wept and sighed : 
" Ah me ! I think base Alzim must malignantly have lied ; 
Bathmendi surely cannot come to seek and help me here ! " 
Fifteen long years he languished thus, more wretched year by year ; 
At last, set free, he wandered forth, an outcast in the land, — 
No friendly door to shelter him, no man to take his hand ; 
Unknown, forgotten, desperate, he sought the river's shore, — 
Death seemed a blessed haven, where he would not suffer more. 

Sudden, upon the very brink, he found himself held fast ; 
A ragged beggar, bathed in tears, his arms around him cast, 
Sobbing : " It is my brother ! Brother Bekir, look on me ! 
Thou also, then, hast met with naught but want and misery ! 

5 1 BATHMENDI. [May, 

" Oh, Mesrou," answered Bekir, clinging close in his embrace, 
" This is my first true happiness since last I saw thy face ! " 

Then Mesrou told his story. 'T was like to Bekir's own. 
" At first," he said, " all prospered. I was nearest to the throne, 
Prime Minister, and favorite. The court was at my feet. 
Yet, strange to say, Bathmendi I could neither see nor meet. 
But kings are weak and fickle. Courtiers plotted my disgrace ; 
'T was but a step from that to death : I fled the hated place ; 
Disguised in these repulsive rags, but safe, and free at last. 
Together now, at peace will we forget our troubles past. 
Safe sewed inside my inner vest I 've diamonds that will sell 
For gold enough to buy a home, and always keep us well. 
To Kousistan we will return, and live by Tai's side ; 
Wise Tai who, with Alzim's gold, did safe at home abide." 

Their eager footsteps homeward, then, the gladdened brothers turned ; 
And more and more, each mile, their hearts with loving ardor burned. 
The second day, at eve, they reached a little village town, 
Which kept its summer holiday : processions up and down, 
With songs and banners, all day long. Now, when the sun was low 
They scattered, homeward going, with reluctant steps, and slow. 
Leading a band of children, with his head sunk on his breast, 
They saw a man whose bearing seemed unlike to all the rest. 
Deep lost in thought he slowly walked, and never raised his eyes ; 
His face familiar looked ; they paused, and gazed ; oh, sweet surprise ! 
It was their brother Sadder, lost to them so many years ; 
Into each other's arms they fell, with laughter, and with tears. 

" How now!" cried Bekir. "Doth the world true genius thus neglect?" 
" It seems," said Sadder, "valor wins but little more respect. 
However, true philosophy finds food for ceaseless thought 
In every chance; and wisdom true by smallest things is taught." 
This said, the children he dismissed, and led his brothers where, 
In wretched hut, alone he lived, black bread his only fare. 
" The Genie Alzim, I suspect, delights in human woe," 

Said Sadder, after they had supped. "You know he bade me go 

To Agra, promising that thus I should Bathmendi find 

Among the men and women there of learning and of mind. 

I went. I took the place by storm. My book a furor raised. 

The whole world read and talked of it, and everybody praised. 

The Grand Mogul my patron was. I said ' Most surely I 

Bathmendi soon will meet, and find some great felicity ! ' 

Ha ! in a day his mind the Sultan changed, and called me base ; 

To please a Vizier, jealous of his Sovereign's kindly grace. 

He vowed he 'd gladly order off my miserable head. 

A slave I had befriended gave me warning, and I fled ; 

And after wandering for years, half starved, half dead with shame, 

School-master to the peasants here most thankfully became." 

" Return with us," said Mesrou. " I have diamonds which will keep 
Us all in comfort in our home." Poor Sadder could but weep 
His thanks for such deliverance. 

At early dawn, next day, 
The three, with joyous hearts, set out upon their homeward way. 
As they their journey's end approached, and Tai's house was near, 
Their hearts oppressed began to be, with doubt and anxious fear. 

i88 5 .] 



Is Tai living ? Is he poor ? At any rate, we know 
Bathmendi he cannot have found, because he would not go 
In search of him." 

Cried Sadder, then: "Dear brothers, list to me. 
Long hours I pondered in the years of my adversity. 
That being, called Bathmendi, I believe does not exist ; 
Else all these years we had not thus his face forever missed. 
If Bekir, crowned with warrior's fame, and Mesrou, high at court, 
And I, a Sultan's favorite, no rumor or report 

Of such a being heard, 't is plain the treach'rous Alzim lied ; 
The falsehood served its purpose well his cruelty to hide. 
Bathmendi is an empty dream, a name the world to cheat, 
To ruin, luring all mankind by vain illusions sweet." 

While yet he spoke, a robber band sprang from behind the trees ; 

With daggers at the brothers' throats, they forced them on their knees ; 

With mocking jests stripped off their clothes, and left them almost bare. 
" Behold my illustration now," cried Sadder, shivering there. 
" Alas, my diamonds," Mesrou wailed. " The wretches ! " Bekir said. 
" They took my sword! Without a sword one might as well be dead!" 

The night came on ; the luckless men beheld the shining light 

From Tai's windows streaming out. Shame-stricken at their plight 

They halted then, and wept afresh, — their hearts with terror cold. 

At last, beneath a window lattice, Bekir, trembling, rolled 

5 12 



A stone, and climbing, looked within. Oh, joy ! what sight was seen ! 

There Tai sat, at supper, with his lovely wife, Amine, 

And a group of merry children, laughing hard as children can. 

On Tai's left, there sat a smiling rosy faced old man, 

Just turning round, his glass in hand, to Tai's health to drink. 

With joyful cry leaped Bekir down, and, as you well may think, 

He did not lose a minute ere upon that door he knocked. 

A servant came, but screamed aloud, and ran back, scared and shocked. 

But Tai knew his brothers, and embraced them o'er and o'er ; 

And clothed their shivering forms, and led them, glad, within the door, 

And brought the children one by one to kiss them all around, 

And proudly showed the sweet Amine. "Ah, brother, you have found 

True happiness," cried Bekir. "We have always wretched been; 
And as for that ' Bathmendi,' him we have not even seen." 

" That is quite true," the rosy faced old man 
exclaimed, with glee ; 
For all these years this happy place has been 

a home for me." 
What ! You are, then, Bathmendi ! " cried 

the brothers, one and all ; 
And with embraces on his neck they quickly 

ran, to fall. 
Oh, gently ! gently ! " he replied ; "I'm very 

I stifle if I am embraced. Moreover, one 

must wait 
Till friendship is assured before caresses can 

begin : 
My lasting friendship and esteem, if you de- 
sire to win, 
Abstain from busying yourselves with plans 

and thoughts of me. 
'T is worth to me far more than all polite- 
ness to be free ; 
And everything immoderate is odious in my 

So saying, he, with distant bow, the brothers 

bade good-night. 
A good-night kiss placed gently on the fore- 
head of each child. 
To Amine, and to Tai, waved his hand and, turn- 
ing, smiled. 

Next day, glad Tai showed his brothers all his flocks and fields ; 

And told them all the happiness a life of farming yields. 

Bekir desired to try his hand at work that very day ; 

He was the first Bathmendi loved. The rest, by slower way, 

Won his regard. Mesrou head shepherd of the flocks became. 

The poet Sadder sold the wool, and won no little fame 

By eloquence to customers. — So all their days sped on, 

And, ere the year was out, all three Bathmendi's love had won. 

They say a fable is but poor that leaveth aught to guess ; 

But I, perhaps, have made this dull, and hurt it more or less. 

So I will add, "Bathmendi" means, in Persian, "Happiness." 




By Lieut. Frederick Schwatka. 

Third Paper. 

One of the first toys that little Boreas has is a 
small bow of whalebone or light wood ; and sitting 
on the end of the snow bed he shoots his toy arrows, 
under the direction of his father or mother or 
some one who cares to play with him, at some- 
thing on the other side of the snow house. This 
is usually a small piece of boiled meat, of which 
he is very fond, stuck in a crack between the 
snow blocks ; and if he hits it, he is entitled to eat 
it as a reward, although little Boreas seldom needs 
such encouragement to stimulate him in his plays, 
so lonesome and long are the dreary winter days in 
which he lives buried beneath the snow. 

These toy arrows are pointed with pins ; but he 
is also furnished with blunt arrows, and whenever 
some inquisitive dog pokes his head in the igloo 
door, looking around for a stray piece of meat or 
blubber to steal, little Boreas, if he shoots straight, 
will hit him upon the nose or head with one of 
the blunt arrows, and the dog will beat a hasty 
retreat. In this sense, the little Eskimo boy has 
plenty of targets to shoot at, for the igloo door is 
nearly always filled with the heads of two or three 
dogs watching Boreas's mother closely ; and if she 
turns her head or back for a moment, they will make 
a rush to steal something, and to get out as soon as 
possible, before she can pound them over the head 
with a club that she keeps for that purpose. 

In these exciting raids of a half-dozen hungry 
dogs, little Boreas is liable to get, by all odds, 
the worst of the encounter. He is too small to 
be noticed, and the first big dog that rushes by 
him knocks him over ; the next probably rolls him 
off the bed to the floor ; another upsets the lamp 
full of oil on him ; and while he is reeking with 
oil, another big dog, taking him for a sealskin full 
of blubber, tries to drag him out, when his mother 
happens to rescue him after she has accidentally 
pommeled him two or three times with the club 
with which she is striking at the dogs ; and if it 
were not for his hideous yelling and crying, one 
would hardly know what he is, so covered is he 
with dirt, grease, and snow. Thus the dogs occa- 
sionally have their revenge on little Boreas for 
whacking them over the nose with his toy arrows, 
although this is not their object in rushing into the 
igloo, for the real cause is their ravenous hunger. 

The duty of feeding the dogs is often intrusted 
to the bovs, and it is no easv work. The most 



v Copyright, by Fred 

common food for the clogs is walrus-skin, about 
an inch to an inch and a half thick, cut in strips 
each about as wide as it is thick, and from a foot to 
eighteen inches long. The dog swallows one of 
these strips as he would a snake ; and it is so tough 
that when he has swallowed about twelve pieces, 
it is no great wonder that he does not want any- 
thing more for two days. Sometimes they cut the 
food up into little pieces inside the igloo, where 
the dogs can not trouble them, and then throw it 
out on the snow ; but this is not altogether a good 
way ; for then the little dogs get it all while the 
big dogs are fighting, for these big burly fellows 
are sure to have an unnecessary row over each 
feeding. If pieces too large to swallow at a gulp 
are thrown out, the large dogs get the food ; and 
so, between the big dogs and the little ones, the 
Eskimo boys have a hard time making an equal 
distribution among the animals. 

When they are anxious for a fair division, only 
one dog at a time is let into the igloo, a couple of 
boys standing at the door with sticks in their hands 
to prevent the other dogs from entering. When it 
is pleasant weather out-of-doors, they often build 
a semicircular wall three or four snow blocks high, 
and behind this a couple of men cut up the meat, 
blubber, or walrus-hide, and allow but one dog at 
a time to come in, three or four boys with long 
whips, their lashes fifteen or twenty feet in length, 
standing near the open part of the wall to keep the 
ravenous pack from making a raid. Once or twice 
I have known dogs to come bounding over the high 
wall, crushing in the snow blocks on the men who 
were chopping the meat, and stealing several 
pieces before the boys had finished beating the 
mingled dogs and men with their whips. 

One winter night, I remember, while on our 
sledge -journey, returning to North Hudson's Bay, 
Toolooah was feeding his dogs, with no one to help 
him. He was on his knees near the igloo door, 
and throwing the bits to the various dogs, the heads 
of which were crowded in the entrance, and he was 
distributing the food as well as was possible under 
the circumstances. One big dog, which he could 
not distinguish in the dark entrance, and which, 
after it had received its share, had driven all the 
other dogs away, seemed determined not to leave. 
Toolooah grew angry, seized his stick and rushed 
out after it to settle matters. But he came rush- 
ing back even faster than he went out, seized 
his gun hurriedly, and as hastily was gone again. 

:rick Schwatka. 1SS5. 




Before we could collect our thoughts in order, or 
surmise what it all could mean, a shot was heard 
outside, and in a few seconds more Toolooah came 
crawling in, dragging a big wolf after him, its 
white fangs showing in its black mouth in a way 
that made us shudder. This was the big dog 
Toolooah had been feeding, but it did not under- 
derstand the customs of the Eskimo dogs well 
enough to know that it must stop eating when only 
half satisfied ; and this ignorance cost it its life. 
The wolves of the Arctic, by the way, are much 

The Eskimo boys have a way of playing at 
musk-ox hunting that is very vigorous and earnest. 
In April, 1879, when I was on a sledge-journey 
to King William's Land, we came upon a herd 
of musk-oxen that we had sighted the day before, 
and after running them with dogs for a mile or two, 
the herd was surrounded, or "brought to bay," as 
hunters would say, and a number of the musk- 
oxen killed. Of course we picked out some of the 
handsomest robes and put them on our sledges, 
and the next day we proceeded on our journey. 


larger, more powerful and ferocious than those 
seen in our country ; and when pressed with hun- 
ger, they do not hesitate at all to make a meal 
off the Eskimo dogs, which they kill and eat at the 
very door of the igloo, if not prevented in some 
way. They are very much afraid of a bright 
light, however, and they will not come around a 
village or even a single igloo so long as they see 
even a small flame, so that it is generally late in 
the night, when the lamp is burning low or has 
gone out, that they make their attacks on the 
dogs, four or five of them often killing or maim- 
ing two or three times as many dogs. 

During that day we passed several musk-ox trails 
in the snow, and it was very clear that we were in 
a country where these animals were quite numer- 
ous. After going into camp that evening between 
two slight hills that sloped down to the lake, where 
we cut through the ice to get our fresh water, there 
was a time when it appeared that I was the only 
person out-of-doors; all of the rest of the people 
were inside the igloos, or snow huts, that had just 
been built, arranging the reindeer skins for the bed- 
ding for the night. Suddenly, I noticed one of 
our best hunting-dogs (we had forty-two dogs alto- 
gether) run excitedly over the hill, followed closely 



by the remainder, one after the other. Then, to was in this case; as soon as they were "to 
my great surprise, I saw two musk-oxen run clown windward " of the little snow village which we 
the farther ridge of the low hills ; and the pack of were building, our keenest-scented dog, Parsc- 


howling, barking dogs soon brought them to bay 
on the ice of the lake not fifty yards from where 
the igloos were built. I acknowledge that I was 
nearly as much excited as the dogs over this strange 
and huge wild game, and I at once shouted in at 
the entrance of my own igloo to my best Eskimo 
hunter, Toolooah : 

" Oo-ming-muk / oo-ming-muk ! ! '" (Musk- 
oxen ! musk-oxen ! !) 

Toolooah seized his gun and ran to the top 
of the nearest ridge, about twenty yards away, 
followed by all the hunters in camp who had 
heard my outcry. And then the whole band of 
them sat down in a row on the ridge and laughed 
until the air was full of the reindeer hair shaken 
from their coats in their convulsive mirth ; for the 
two musk-oxen proved to be only two musk-ox 
robes that we had secured the day before, with a 
boy or two under each robe ! 

These boys had procured the musk-ox robes 
when the sledges were being unloaded, and had 
slipped away, unperceived by any one, while the 
men were building the snow houses. After wrap- 
ping the robes around them they had come down 
near the igloos, keeping on the windward side, or 
that side of the camp where the wind blowing on 
them must also pass over the camp. All my 
boy readers know that if game or wild animals 
thus pass near good hunting-dogs, the dogs will 
"scent" them, as hunters would say. And so it 

neuk, a beautiful curly-haired, sharp-eared, lithe- 
built black fellow, that always led all chases after 
swift game, smelt the musk-ox robes, and — with 
his thoughts full of the day before, its exciting 
chase, and, better than all, its good fine meal of 
musk-ox meat — he dashed over the ridge to in- 
vestigate. The result I have stated. The poor 
dogs seemed as badly sold as I had been, for all 
the camp had been drawn out by the excitement 
and noise ; and so long as the boys kept the shag- 
gy robes over their shoulders and faces, and kept 
their backs together with their heads outward, 
as do the musk-oxen themselves when surrounded 
and brought to bay by wolves or dogs, our dogs 
kept barking and snapping and jumping at them, 
evidently thinking they were genuine musk-oxen, 
and that there was a good prospect of another nice 
dinner if they only kept the oxen from running 
away until the hunters came up and killed them, 
as in the case of the real musk-oxen. 

A musk-ox resembles a buffalo in appearance, 
except that the musk-ox has no "hump" on its 
shoulders, and the hair on its robe is two or three 
times as long as that on the buffalo (or American 
bison, as it should be called). In the winter-time 
this long hair reaches down beyond the knees al- 
most to the hoofs, and when the musk-oxen are 
walking on the soft snow, they sink in so that you 
can not see their legs at all. It was this long hair, 
hanging down so low as to almost cover the legs 




of the boys hidden underneath the robes, that had 
so helped to deceive me when I first saw them, 
and caused me to put the whole camp in an up- 
roar and thereby fasten a very good joke on my- 
self — a joke that clung to me a long time. 

Toolooah, who was one of the most merry- 
hearted and best-natured young Eskimo I ever 
saw, and who, as I have told you, was my best 
hunter, laughed until his sides were sore and his 
eyes were red ; and for several weeks after that he 
would occasionally say " oo-ming-muk .' " and laugh 
until the tears ran down his cheeks. It was not very 

supposed prey, all the more fierce where there is 
so unusual a number as forty-two dogs and but 
two musk-oxen. Then with their toy arrows, which 
are specially blunted for this rough play, the other 
boys pelt the dangling robes in an earnest way that 
must often make the boys under the robes smart 
with pain, so heavily do the blunted arrows thud 
against them ; but these little savages expect their 
plays to be very rough, and a whack over the 
knuckles that would break up a whole base-ball 
game of white boys, only brings out an emphatic 
"I-yi/ " (their " ouch ! " ) and the rough, harum- 


often that the}' had a good joke on a white man, 
and this one they seemed to enjoy to their hearts' 

But the musk-ox hunt is not over yet for the 
boys ; in fact, the most exciting part is still to 
come. As soon as the mock musk-oxen are 
"brought to bay" by the excited and foolish 
dogs, the other boys get their bows and arrows 
and hurry to the spot, encouraging the dogs, 
which have now become furious and wild, and 
have formed a most ferocious circle around their 

scarum game goes on. In a little while, the dogs 
seem to comprehend that there is some foolishness 
about the matter, and begin to drop off one by one, 
in the order of their ability to see through the joke, 
and finally the game dies a natural death for want 
of the dogs and the noise and excitement which 
contribute to it. 

The boys' mock polar-bear hunt is so much like 
their musk-ox hunt that a few lines will describe 
it. One of the boys of the village gets a polar- 
bear robe, and wrapping it around him after he is 

,88 5 ; 



out among the ice-hummocks about the village, 
he comes crawling along some sledge-path near the 
igloos, when he is discovered by the dogs and 
surrounded. This is likely to be much rougher 
sport than that of musk-ox hunting, for the boys 
take their spears and jab away at their brother 
in the bear robe, until you would 
think they would break some of 
his ribs ; while the dogs, embold- 
ened by these supposed brave 
advances, oftentimes take big 
bites of fur from the dangling 
edges of the robe. The mock 
bear rears up on his hind feet 
and growls in a very ferocious 
manner, until, worn out at last 
with his hard work and with 
having his head so tightly covered 
up with a heavy robe, he finally 
falls over at some thrust of a spear 
and pretends to expire. But the 
next moment he crawls out from 
the robe, much to the disgust of 
the dogs, with their hopes of a 
fine meal of bear flesh. 

It is no uncommon event for 
a polar bear to prowl along the 
ice-floes of the sea-coast, which 
is its favorite walk, until it finally 
stumbles on an Eskimo village ; 
and if the dogs see it or smell 
it, it is very apt to be brought to 
bay near by, and then killed by 
some of the native hunters who 
have been alarmed by the noise 
and outcry. A fair fight on the 
open ice with a large polar bear 
is somewhat dangerous, for if 
severely wounded it may tear 
the hunter to pieces. The Eskimo 
seldom wound any dangerous ani- 
mals, for, being a very brave peo- 
ple, — that is, personally brave, — 
they generally go so close that, 
unless some accident with the 
fire-arms happens, the animal, 
whether it is bear or musk-ox, is 
usually killed at the first shot. 

I once found an old Eskimo 
hunter, however, in my camp in 
North Hudson's Bay, whose hair 
and scalp had been taken com- 
pletely off by the bite of a wounded bear that he 
had endeavored to kill ; and Toolooah once fired at 
a big bear, with too hasty an aim, hoping to save 
one of his dogs that the bear had under its paws. 
He only wounded the huge animal, which instantly 

charged him, and was only killed by a lucky shot 
just as it was close upon the hunter. 

Toolooah told me that he has seen polar bears 
climb up places so steep and perpendicular that 
the natives could not follow them without cutting 
in the wall of ice niches wherein to put their hands 


and feet, and even in some instances, an ice-wall 
so high that the hunters dared not attempt to climb 
it on account of the danger of slipping and killing 
themselves. A British explorer of the Arctic regions 
says that he once climbed to the top of an iceberg. 




and there found a big white bear sleeping away, 
in quiet possession. The bear, on discovering the 
party, jumped over the perpendicular side of the 
ice mountain, fifty-one fret, into the sea, and swam 
to the nearest land, which was more than twenty 
miles away. 

The polar bears live on seal and walrus, crawling 
stealthily up to the former on the ice-floes and 
catching them ; while of the walrus only the 
young are thus caught, for an old walrus is 

twice as big as Bruin. Some Arctic explorers, 
however, — Captain Hall and Dr. Rae among 
others, — state that the bears sometimes surprise 
an old walrus by climbing above him on a pre- 
cipitous "hill, or the walls of an iceberg, and then 
taking stones or huge pieces of ice in their fore- 
paws and throwing them with such force as to 
crack the walrus's skull as he lies asleep or at rest 
on the ice. Then the bears spring down on the 
stunned walrus and finish him. 


( A Scries of Brief Papers concerning the Great Musicians. ) 

By Agatha Tunis. 

II. — Handel. 

Probably no musician has a closer hold on 
the hearts of English-speaking people than Georg 
Friedrich Handel. 

He was born at Halle, in Saxony, February 23, 
1685. Unlike most of the great musicians, Handel 
does not seem to have inherited his talent ; his 
father was a barber and surgeon, and nowhere in 
the family can we discover any special love for 

Handel, however, seems to have been "a born 
musician " ; he turned everything he touched into 
sound. For some time he astonished and amused 
his parents and all who heard him ; but as his 
love for music seemed ever to grow within him, 
his father, who had destined him for the law, 
banished every musical instrument from the house, 
and declared that the boy should hear no more 
of them. The boy, however, managed to smuggle 
a clavier * into the house, and hid it in the attic ; 
and night after night, when all in the house were 
asleep, he practiced on the muffled keys, teaching 
himself until he could play upon it with much skill. 

About this time his father decided to visit a rela- 
tive attached to the household of the Duke of Sax- 
on) 1 at Wessenfels. The Duke was very devoted 
to music, and Handel, who had probably learned 
this fact, implored his father to take him, too ; 
but in vain. Nothing daunted by the denial, the 
persistent little fellow ran after the carriage until 
his father discovered him and took him in. He 
became a great favorite at Wessenfels, and one 
Sunday afternoon, after the choir had finished 
singing, the organist lifted the child to the stool 
and told him to play ; and play he did, with so 
much expression and delicacy, that the Duke de- 

* The clavier is ihe key-board of 

manded his name, and sent for his father. He 
begged the latter to give up the project of making 
a lawyer of his son, predicted a brilliant future 
for him if his musical genius were cultivated, and 
sent the child away with his pockets filled with 
coin, and the father converted to the idea of a 
musical education for his son. 

Arriving at Halle, the father placed Handel 
under the instruction of Friedrich Zachau, who 
taught the lad the organ, harpsichord, violin, coun- 
terpoint, and fugue, besides all his musical studies. 
He also entered the Latin school, where he made 
rapid progress in every branch he undertook. He 
worked very diligently at his music, always com- 
posing seme work for the organ each week. At 
the end of three years Zachau declared that his 
pupil knew all he could teach him, and advised 
that young Handel be sent to Berlin to study; so 
at the age of eleven the boy found himself in 
Berlin, where his clavichord-playing caused a great 
sensation. Here, among other composers, he saw 
much of Attilio Ariosti and Giovanni Buononcini, 
both of whom he was to meet later under far 
different circumstances. Ariosti took great interest 
in the child, giving him little hints about his music, 
and delighting to hear him improvise. Buononcini, 
on the contrary, was envious of the little fellow, 
and determined he would hear no more of his 
praises. In order to crush him, he composed a 
cantata filled with difficulties that would have taxed 
an artist, and handing it to the boy, he told him 
to play it at sight, thinking thus to humiliate him. 
To his surprise Handel executed it, not only with 
ease, but with all the polish of a veteran musician. 
The Elector of Hanover recognized his genius, and 
offered to send him to Italy to complete his musical 
education, but his father declined the kind offer, 

a clavichord, organ, or pianoforte. 

i88 5 .; 



and the boy returned home, where, soon after, 
the father died. Meantime Handel kept on at 
school, distancing all his school-mates as a Latin 
scholar, and worked at his music, composing and 
practicing. In his eighteenth year he accepted a 
position as organist at the cathedral in Halle, play- 
ing the organ at the services, instructing the choir 
in vocal music, and setting many parts of the 
service to music. At the end of a year his en- 
gagement ended, and he determined to seek his 
fortunes. He had nothing but genius and good- 
will ; but that was capital enough for the ambitious 
youth, who felt that he should some day write 
music that would be heard by the world. He 
arrived at Hamburg, the city in which he had 
determined to settle, and soon obtained a posi- 
tion as second violinist in the orchestra of the 
opera house. Here he formed an intimacy with a 
tenor of the opera named Mattheson, who says : 
"At this time Handel pretended he was a know- 
nothing, and acted as if he could not count five ; 
but one night when the harpsichord player was 
absent, he slipped into his place and so performed 
that all knew him for the man I had long felt him 
to be." 

Shortly after this Mattheson and Handel had a 
quarrel, which resulted in a duel, but fortunately 
neither of the men was hurt. 

Handel's first opera was produced at this time, 
and met with very great success ; it was followed 
by two more, which were received with the same 
unbounded enthusiasm, and his fame soon spread 
throughout Germany. 

In 1706 he started for a tour through Italy, 
visiting all of the principal cities. While there 
he was constantly composing, and his operas were 
publicly produced as fast as he could write them. 
His visit was one continued triumph, and praise 
and honors came to him from all. 

At the end of three years he decided to return 
to Germany and to accept a position as Capell- 
meister to the Elector of Hanover, on condi- 
tion that, before assuming his new duties, he 
should be allowed a year's leave of absence to 
visit England. This was readily granted, and in 
the winter of 17 10 he arrived at London, the city 
which was to be his real home and the scene of 
his greatest work. At this time the musical taste 
of the public was at a low ebb ; Italian operas 
held the stage, and these only of the poorest kind. 
The people, therefore, were delighted with Handel's 
music, and he met with instant success. 

The first opera which he produced was his 
"Rinaldo," written by him in twenty-seven days; 
it charmed the public, and everywhere the airs 
were whistled, sung, and played. He received 
every kind of attention, and became the idol of 

the public. But among all his experiences at this 
time, none was more singular than his acquaintance 
with Thomas Britton. This remarkable man car- 
ried a coal-sack on his shoulder all day, and at 
night pored over books until he had educated him- 
self. Music, however, was his favorite pursuit, and 
this brought him into contact with Handel. His 
house was very old and shabby ; it was entered by 
outside steps, which were almost a ladder ; within, 
the ceilings were so low that one could touch them; 
but here Britton lived with his books and his music, 
and here he entertained cultivated people, evening 
after evening, with music, conversation, and coffee. 
Here Handel delighted to go, and when he did so 
he would play on the harpsichord almost the entire 
evening. At length Handel's year was up, and 
he left London very reluctantly and to the regret 
of the whole people. 

After returning to Germany he found his heart 
was still in London, and he again obtained per- 
mission to visit England. This he did in 1712. 
During the following year he wrote an ode for 
Queen Anne's birthday, a Te Deum and Jubilate, 
all of which met with unbounded appreciation. 

With London at his feet, how could Handel re- 
turn to Hanover ? And so he overstaid his leave 
and lingered on, until, in 17 14, Queen Anne died 
and the Elector, Handel's master, ascended the 
English throne as George I. 

Handel was now in much distress as to the action 
the King might take in regard to him, but he had 
kind friends at court, who brought his own music 
to his aid to relieve his distress. 

Hearing that the King intended taking an excur- 
sion on the Thames, Handel wrote the " Water 
Music," which was played on the boat following 
the King. The latter was charmed with the strains 
and wished to know the composer. One of Handel's 
friends told the King, begging him to forgive the 
composer for his fault. The King pardoned him 
on the spot, and in token of his forgiveness added 
two hundred pounds a year to his pension. 

During the next year Handel visited Hanover, 
and on his return to England, accepted a position 
as director at the private chapel of the Duke of 
Chandos. Besides playing on the organ and train- 
ing the choir, he worked industriously at writ- 
ing, composing constantly Te Deums, anthems, 
and even producing an oratorio. In 1720 he ac- 
cepted the directorship of the Royal Academy of 
Music; some of Handel's compositions were sung, 
and for a long time the operas were very success- 
ful, and Handel ruled everything. But in an evil 
hour for him, Ariosti and Buononcini were invited 
to London to compose for the Academy. It was 
suggested that each of the three composers should 
write an act of a new opera. Handel's was incom- 




parably superior, and his rivals became very jeal- 
ous ; each composer had his supporters, who were 
very bitter partisans, and party spirit ran high. 
The feud gave rise to the following little epigram : 

" Some say, compared to Buononcini. 
That Mynheer Handel 's but a ninny ; 
Others aver that he to Handel 
Is scarcely fit to hold a candle ; 
Strange all this difference should be 
'Twixt Tweedledum and Tweedledee ! " 

The three composers continued to write for the 
Academy until 1728, when, after an unsuccessful 
season, the Society failed. Handel now determined 
to conduct in a theater of his own ; and for some 
years he met with varying success, at one time draw- 
ing brilliant audiences, at others seeming almost 
forgotten bv the public. His health at last gave 
way, and, ruined in purse, he severed all connec- 
tion with the theater. He now began to compose 
those mighty works on which his fame rests. In 
1740 his " Israel in Egypt,'' which he had written 
in twenty-seven days, was performed and proved 
a failure. After the first night it was announced 
that Italian choruses would be mingled with the 
oratorio, but even this proved unsuccessful, and 
after the third performance it was withdrawn. One 
can only pity a public that could not appreciate 
these sublime creations. The tireless composer 
continued to write, and during this same year set to 
music, among other poems, Milton's " U Allegro" 
and " // Penseroso. ' ' 

But Handel still longed for appreciation, and 
he determined to accept the oft-repeated invita- 
tions he had received to visit Ireland. He 
remained there two years, during which time 
he received an ovation from the Irish public, 
which appreciated and loved his works. There his 
"Messiah," the best loved of all his oratorios, 
was first given to the world. When first sung 
in England, it produced a great effect on all 
who heard it, and as the "Hallelujah Chorus" 
first broke upon the audience, the King and people 
involuntarily rose to their feet, — a tribute to genius 
which still remains, and to this day every one 
stands when the " Hallelujah Chorus " is sung. 

After his return to London Handel once more 
assumed the management of a theater, and again 
he failed. From this time he devoted himself to 

composition until his blindness came upon him in 
1752. Still, he presided at the organ when anv 
of his oratorios were sung. When "Samson" 
was first given after his blindness, and the singer 
came to the lines: 

" Total eclipse, no sun, no moon, 
All dark amid the blaze of noon,' 

Handel trembled, and many in the audience were 
moved to tears. He lingered on a few years longer 
and conducted a performance of the "Messiah" 
for the last time, on April 6, 1759, and died on 
April 14. 

Handel was tall and dignified in appearance, 
with a strong, beautiful smile, which lighted his 
countenance when he was pleased. He wore a 
white wig which always nodded when the per- 
formance went well. He was a highly educated 
man, speaking French and Italian, and having a 
fine taste for pictures. He was very humorous, and 
it is said that had ours been his native language, 
he would have left behind him many witty sayings. 
His improvisations on the organ were wonderfully 
beautiful ; his playing on the harpsichord and organ 
was excelled by that of only one man in his day, — 
Sebastian Bach. 

Great, however, as was Handel's execution, his 
real field was in oratorio, and it is for his achieve- 
ments in this direction that he is loved by the 
whole English-speaking people, and for this they 
love to call him theirs. And he is an EnglisF- 
man in everything but birth. His life was passed 
in England, he was English in his tastes, and was 
molded by English influences. He wrote for the 
English people, and they now, above every other 
nation, love and appreciate his works. It is inter- 
esting to contrast him with the illustrious Bach, 
who has never been appreciated by the people, 
while every musician has mastered him as the 
A, B, C of music, without which nothing can be 
done. Handel, on the contrary, speaks to all, and 
will never cease to appeal to the highest emotions 
of those who hear his mighty works, but he has 
never influenced the history of music. It seems as 
if he had pushed oratorio to its highest limit, and 
as if his work in this field, like Beethoven's in 
symphony, can never be excelled in the future, as 
it has never been excelled in the past. 




By Palmer Cox. 


One evening, with the falling dew, 

Some Brownies 'round a cottage drew. 

And, while they strolled about the place 

Or rested from their recent race, 

Said one: " I 've learned the reason why 

We miss the ' Biddy, Biddy ! ' cry. 

That every morning brought a score 

Of fowls around this cottage door ; 

'T is rheumatism most severe 

That keeps the widow prisoned here. 

And brushes, brooms, and mops around. 

An unaccustomed rest have found. 

Her sheep go bleating through the field. 

In quest of salt no herb can yield, 

To early roost the fowls withdraw 
With drooping wings and empty craw. 
While sore neglect you may discern 
On every side, where'er you turn. 
Her neighbors' eyes, at times like these, 
Seem troubled with some sad disease 
That robs them of the power to spy 
Beyond where private interests lie. 
If help she finds in time of need, 
From Brownies' hands it must proceed.' 
Another said: "The wool, I know, 
Went through the mill a month ago. 
I saw her when she bore the sack 
Up yonder hill, a wondrous pack 



I May, 

That caught the branches overhead, 
And round her heels the gravel spread. 
The oily rolls are somewhere nigh, 
And waiting for the spindle lie. 
On these we might our skill have shown, 
But trouble never flies alone ; 

A passing goat, with manners bold, 

Mistook it for a rival old, 

And knocked it 'round for half an hour 

With all his noted butting power. 

They say it was a striking scene, 

That twilight conflict on the green ; 
The wheel was resting on the shed, 
The frame around the garden spread, 
Before he seemed to gain his sight, 
And judge the article aright." 
A third remarked: "I call to mind 
Another wheel that we may find, 
Though somewhat worn by use and time, 
t seems to be in order prime ; 
Now, night is but a babe as yet, 
The dew has scarce the clover wet ; 

Her spinning-wheel is lying there 
In fragments quite beyond repair. 
It happened in this tragic way : 
While standing out at close of day, 

By running fast and working hard 
We soon can bring it to the yard ; 
Then stationed here in open air 
The widow's wool shall be our care, 



And all we meet with, high or low, 
We '11 leave in yarn before we go." 

This suited all, and soon with zeal 
They started off to find the wheel; 
Their course across the country lay 
Where great obstructions barred the way 

And band and fixtures, all complete ; 
And soon beneath the trying load 

They had some trouble, toil, and care, 
Some hoisting here, and hauling there ; 
At times, the wheel upon a fence 

But Brownies seldom go around 

However rough or wild the ground. 

O'er rocky slope and marshy bed, 

With one accord they pushed ahead, — 

Across the tail-race of a mill. 

And through a churchyard on the hill. 

They found the wheel, with head and feet, 

Defied them all to drag it thence, 
As though determined to remain 
And serve the farmer, guarding grain. 
But patient head and willing hand 
Can wonders work in every land ; 
And cunning Brownies never yield, 
But aye as victors leave the field. 

5 2 4 



Some ran for sticks, and some for pries, 
And more for blocks on which to rise, 
That every hand or shoulder there, 
In such a pinch might do its share. 
Before the door they set the wheel, 
And near at hand the winding reel, 
That some might wind while others spun. 
And thus the task be quickly done. 
No time was wasted, now, to find 
What best would suit each hand or mind. 

Their mode of action and their skill 
With wonder might a spinster fill ; 
No forward step or two, then back, 
With now a pull and now a slack, 
But out across the yard entire 
They spun the yarn like endless wire,- 
Beyond the well with steady haul, 
Across the patch of beans and all, 
Until the walls, or ditches wide, 
A greater stretch of wool denied. 

But here and there, with common bent, 
In busy groups to work they went. 
Some through the cottage crept about 
To find the wool and pass it out. 
With some to turn, and some to pull, 
And some to shout, " The spindle 's full ! ' 
The wheel gave out a droning song, — 
The work in hand was pushed along. 

The widow's yarn was quickly wound 
In tidy balls, quite large and round. 
And ere the night began to fade, 
The borrowed wheel at home was laid, 
And none the worse for rack or wear, 
Except some bruises here and there, 
A spindle bent, a broken band, 
The owner failed to understand. 



By Florence R. Hill. 

A tiny little seed am 1, 
In the mold, 

Hidden from the great blue sky 
And the cold. 

Now I '11 throw a rootlet out, 
Feel around. — 

There ! I 've really turned about 
In the ground ! 

Did 1 hear a bluebird sing? 

Could it be ? 
If I did, it must be spring, — 

I '11 go see ! 

By C. F. Holder. 


The animals all have vocations of some kind. 
From the largest elephant to the smallest insect 
they have a certain work to perform that is of 
more or less importance in making all life move 
along harmoniously. And it is sometimes curious 
to see how exactly our trades are imitated by them. 
We see the carpenter-bee working in wood, also 
numerous beetles and ants and the sexton-beetles 
burying the dead of insects ; the snails and ants are 
miners, the Pkolas even carrying a miner's lamp ; 
the birds build wonderful structures, and can fitly 
claim to be architects. And so we might go on 
through a long list of workers in metal, wood, or 

clay; while others are kings, queens, laborers, 
slaves, soldiers, navigators, and what not. 

But it is with some curious animal hunters, or 
trappers, that we wish just now to become better 
acquainted. In human endeavors to capture 
game, a variety of traps and devices are brought 
into use. Sometimes great nets are used to 
ensnare birds, and pitfalls to lure larger game, 
while the sportsman, hidden by a mimic forest, 
floats down unsuspected upon the wild water-birds. 
But of all these devices, and many more, we find 
exact counterparts among the lower animals ; either 
we imitate them or thev us, — who shall sav ? And 




now for the comparison. We have spoken of the 
hunter who surrounds himself by bushes, — well, 
there is an insect that imitates the twigs and 
branches themselves, and so creeps upon its game. 
Various insects of the genus Mantis are found 
throughout the world, and are very common 
in our Middle States, specimens often being seen 
on the fences standing perfectly still, with their 
great claws lifted high in air, exactly as if they were 
praying; and from this peculiarity they are called 
the "Praying Mantis." Similar names are given 
to this insect in France and Italy. The Hottentots 
worship the mantis as a divinity ; and if one alights 
upon a person, he or she is looked upon ever after 
as a saint. Notwithstanding all this, the mantis is 
a cowardly, treacherous hunter. It resembles the 
twigs and boughs upon which it crawls, both in 
color and shape ; and when a smaller insect ap- 
proaches, it creeps along with a stealthy, cat-like 
motion and suddenly seizes the victim with its 
knife-like claws. In South America they attain a 
large size, and, according to Burmeister, the Mantis 
of the Argentine Republic even captures small birds 
if they happen to dart too near it. 

Even among themselves these insects are vicious 
and cannibalistic, fighting upon the slightest prov- 
ocation. The Chinese even keep them in bamboo 
cages, and exhibit them as prize-fighters. In their 
combats their movements are those of a swords- 
man ; blows are given with their sword-like fore 
legs, and a vigorous battle kept up until one suc- 
cumbs, when the victor devours his vanquished 
enemy then and there. 

In Africa, deep pits are often made by human 
hunters to capture game, and among the insects 



we find the ant-lion (Myrmcleon) adopting a simi- 
lar ruse. Its eggs are laid in sandy places, and 
when the young ant-lions appear they have no 
wings, and are flat little creatures with immense 


jaws. As soon as born, the curious larvae proceed 
to work. Each young ant-lion selects a soft place 
in the sand, and by turning itself around and 
around, it traces an exterior circle ; and by contin- 
uing the spiral motion, and gradually retreating to 
the center, it marks out and forms a cavity having 
spirals like those of a snail shell. Next, these are 
smoothed down by an ingenious process. If a pebble 
rolls in, or is found in the slope, the ant-lion places 
it upon its head, and with a sudden jerk sends it far 
out of the pit. But sometimes pebbles are found 
that are too heavy to be thrown out in this way, and 
then another plan is adopted. The pebble is care- 
fully rolled upon the flat back of the ant-lion, which 
starts up the incline with its tail high in air, so that 
the load is kept upon a level, and finally deposited 
upon the outside. If the pebble is round, many 
attempts have to be made ; and an ant-lion has been 
seen to make seven or eight trials to carry out a 
pebble, each time carefully following up the track 
made by the pebble in rolling down, only finally, as 
if mortified by constant failure, giving it up and 
seeking another spot. The pit completed is seen 
to be a circular or conical depression, at the bottom 



of which the wily hunter conceals itself, only its 
jaws and many eyes being visible ; and here it 
awaits its prey, that sooner or later comes tumbling 
in. Ants that happen to be off on a foraging jour- 
ney are the most frequent victims. The ant comes 
running along rapidly, and is over the edge of the 
pit before he knows it, the treacherous sand giving 
way and precipitating him down toward the con- 
cealed lion. A moment more and two (to him) 
enormous jaws open, and the ant quickly disap- 
pears from sight forever. Sometimes, instead of 
tumbling down into the pit, the ant obtains a foot- 
hold and almost escapes ; but in such a case the 
ant-lion throws aside all concealment, rushes out, 
and shovels sand upon its struggling victim, and by 
successive jerks bombards it with such a fusillade 
of sand that, beaten and confused, it rolls down 
into the open jaws of the cruel hunter. For two 
years the ant-lion carries on its predatory war- 
fare, gradually growing larger and enlarging its 
pit, until finally it is ready to change into a chrys- 
alis. It then envelops itself in a round ball of sand, 
cemented together by fine silken cords. In this 
cocoon it lives for about three weeks, when it 
emerges a perfect four-winged insect resembling 
the dragon-fly. 

The dragon-flies themselves are bold and vora- 
cious hunters, and with their gauzy, lace-like wings, 
brilliantly colored bodies and rapid flight, are 
among the most beautiful of the insect tribe. 
Grubs, butterflies, insects of all kinds, 
are their legitimate prey, and in New 
Zealand the giant dragon-fly has been 
observed chasing small fresh-water 
fishes about in a shallow pond, mak- 
ing desperate dashes at them, finally 
seizing one by its upper or dorsal fin, 
and amid repeated duckings and strug- 
gles bearing it away to a neighboring 
bush to be devoured, after the manner 
of the kingfishers. Gosse, the English 
naturalist, observed a similar instance 
in Alabama. The winged fisherman — 
a large dragon-fly — was seen chasing 
the affrighted fishes, dashing into the 
water withasplash, the finny preyrush- 
ing about in terror, soon congregating, 
however, to be again attacked by the 
swift-winged hunter, which finally se- 
cured one of them. The larvae of the 
dragon-fly live under water and are 
extremely voracious, often capturing 
small fishes with their powerful jaws. 

The webs of mam- spiders are really very sim- 
ilar to the traps of professional bird-catchers in the 
East. One of the trap-door spiders comes out of its 
nest at dusk, fastens back the door with a cord of 

silk, erects a long web, and then patiently awaits the 
entanglement of some luckless insect. At the first 
break of day the web is taken down, the trap-door 
lowered, and nothing is seen of the spider until the 
evening. Other spiders leap after their prey like 
tigers, first attaching a single thread of silk to the 
starting-point — by which, if they fail to strike the 
victim, they swing off and return up the thread, to 
make the attack anew. Others entangle their prey, 
rolling them over and over and winding them in 
silk, in which they are kept till wanted. Small 
snakes, lizards, and various tiny animals are thus 
caught, and, though weighing vastly more than 
their captors, are lifted clear of the ground into 
the fairy-like nets. 

The largest web of which I ever heard, how- 
ever, is not a trap, and is built by the larva of a 
butterfly from Australia. A lady, observing the 
insects, placed a number of them in a room upon 
her veranda. Having to use the apartment some 
time after, she found, to her astonishment, that 
the walls were completely covered by a beautiful, 
uniform web, attached at the corners by coarse 
threads, so that it hung like a tapestry of silvery 
sheen, presenting an unbroken surface of about 
two hundred and fifty-two square feet, a wonderful 
work for a few little creatures, each hardly five- 
twelfths of an inch long. 

In some of the islands of the Pacific, webs have 
been found in which living birds were entangled, 


and in Bermuda, other kinds of webs, the threads 
of which were so stout that they have been used as 
sewing-silk. For many years the account given by 
Madame Merian of the spider that hunted birds and 




lizards was not believed, but Mr. H. W. Bates, the 
naturalist, has observed a similar instance in Brazil, 
that can not better be told than in his own words : 
"In the course of our walk, I chanced to verify a 
fact relating to the habit of a large hairy spider, 
belonging to the genus Mygale, in a manner worth 
recording. The species was Mygale avicularia, 
or one very closely allied to it; the spider was 
nearly two inches in length of body, but the legs 
expanded seven inches, and the entire body and 
head were covered with coarse gray and reddish 
hairs. I was attracted by a movement of the 
monster on a tree-trunk ; it was close beneath a 
deep crevice in the tree, across which was stretched 
a dense white web. The lower part of the web 
was broken, and two small birds — finches — were 
entangled in the pieces. . . , One of them 
was quite dead. ... I drove away the spi- 
der and took the birds, but the second one soon 
died. ... I found the circumstance to be quite a 
novelty to the residents hereabout," who were far 
from being afraid of the spider, allowing their 
children to tie a string about the body of the 
giant Mygale and lead it about as one would a 
cat or dog. They called them ., 
" Aranhas carangucijeiras," or 
" Crab Spiders." 

A very curious hunter, if so 
we may call it, is seen in the 
Peripatus — a caterpillar-shaped 
insect, found in Panama, at the 
Cape of Good Hope, and in other 
countries. They are sluggish, 
though possessing seventeen legs, 
each provided with a pair of short 
claws for clinging. They are 
mainly vegetable eaters, but 
they have a wonderful web- 

%. #: 


5 4', $ 

making ar- 
by which 
they are en- 
a b 1 e d to 
check the 
advance of 
an enemy at 
a moment's 
notice. From 
glands se- 
creted near 
the mouth, 
they eject at 
the slightest 
warning my- 
riads of fine 
threads of a 

sticky secretion, 
that cross and re- 
cross each other like 
liquid darts in the 
air, crystallizing im- 
mediately and form- 
ing a complete web 
in front of the cater- 
pillar. This web solidifies about 
any unfortunate insect, securing 
it by almost invisible bands, until 
the unwieldy Peripatus, when disposed, breaks 
in and dines upon it. The web is often thrown 
out when the animal is touched or alarmed, 
and as it is acid and bitter it must be an 
effective defense, and fatal to many insects 
and small animals. 

Gathering fruit can scarcely be called trap- 
ping, and yet there is a stratagem attributed to 
that " walking bunch of tooth-picks" called the 
hedgehog, which may properly have a place in 
this article. It seems that fruit is frequently 
found in the hedgehog's sleeping apartment, 
and its presence there is explained in this re- 
markable way : It is known that hedgehogs often 
climb walls, and run off upon low boughs, and 
instead of scrambling down in the same manner, 
they boldly make the leap from the top to the 
ground, sometimes ten or twelve feet. They 
coil into a ball in the air, strike upon their armor 
of spines, and bound away unharmed. In tak- 
ing this jump, they have been seen to strike 
upon fallen fruit, which, thus impaled upon their 
spines, was carried away by them ; and this has 
given rise to the opinion that in some such way 
they may have stored their winter homes. 


,8S 5 .] 


5 2 9 


[a story for giri.s written by a girl.*] 

By Marion Satterlee. 

A LARGE, home-like room. A feu- cases of 
books line the walls, the furniture is somewhat 
threadbare, and the carpet decidedly the worse 
for wear; a long table strewn with school-books, 
slates, and pencil-ends occupies the foreground, 
and a student lamp sheds its mild light over the 
inky table-cover. The fire-place is black and 
dreary, and the only really cheerful object in the 
room is the face of a girl of sixteen, with dark hair 
and blue eyes, who sits busily engaged in painting. 
A bright smile lights her thoughtful face as her 
hand moves rapidly yet carefully, working out the 
details of her design. 

Another girl, twelve years old, kneels on a chair, 
resting her head on her hands and her elbows on 
the table. Her bright hair falling over her face partly 
conceals her troubled look ; but one can see that 
her forehead is contracted by a frown and her eyes 
glisten with hardly suppressed tears. She pushes 
her book away from her and drums impatiently on 
the table. The elder girl continues her painting, 
singing softly to herself, and pays no attention to 
the various signs of vexation displayed by her little 
sister. At last she looks up and says, rather 
quickly : 

''Well, Katie, what is it?" 

This question is a great relief to Katie, as it 
gives her an opportunity to vent her injured 

" You know what it is, just as well as I do, 
Alice. All the girls are going back to school this 
year, and I just long to go ! I can't study alone ; 
no one will ever hear my lessons or take any inter- 
est in them. I shall fall far behind the other girls, 
and you know I was at the head nearly all last 
winter. Oh, dear, why can't I go back?" 

Then Katie's tears overflowed and trickled down 
upon the tattered arithmetic over which she had 
been puzzling. 

Alice well knew how hard it was for the am- 
bitious little girl to be withdrawn from school for a 
whole year and left to her own devices, without the 
society of her beloved "girls"; so that when she 
spoke, it was quite gently and as though to appeal 
to Katie's reason and common sense, which had 
been somewhat clouded by her disappointment. 

" Birdie," said Alice, laying down her brush, 
" you know perfectly well that it is impossible for 

you to go back to school, — at least, for this term. 
You know that Papa has been unfortunate in busi- 
ness, and we all must make some sacrifices to help 
him, and the little mother. I know it 's very 
hard for you to give up your school, but then you 
are only a little girl, and one year does n't make 
so much difference. You can work faithfully by 
yourself, and make up for lost time next winter. 
We all will help you as much as we can. I do feel 
sorry for you, but, since we must make sacrifices, 
why not make them cheerfully ? They're so much 
nicer that way." 

Katie, or, as her sister calls her, Birdie, has 
slipped down from her chair during Alice's little 
lecture, and she now stands beside her sister, who 
puts one arm around her, and, looking up from her 
half-finished drawing into Birdie's face, says: 

" Well, little one, what do you think of it ? " 

And Birdie, whose tears are almost dry, and who 
is already ashamed of her outburst, answers : 

" I think it 's lovely, Alice, and I do hope they 
will give you a prize. They ought to, I'm sure." 

A large publishing house had offered three 
prizes in money for the three best original designs 
for Christmas-cards received in answer to their 
announcement; and for one of these prizes Alice 
Browning was working. It seemed almost im- 
possible to make any novel or appropriate design, 
and Alice had taken up the matter at first, simply 
with a view to amusing herself, and thinking that it 
would be good practice. She had little hope that 
she could produce anything sufficiently good to 
really enter into the prize competition. But grow- 
ing interested in her work, as was her custom (for 
she was an earnest little maid), Alice expended 
all her ingenuity and much patient skill upon the 
elaboration of her subject. As she possessed a 
good degree of imagination and considerable talent 
for drawing figures, her efforts were really very suc- 
cessful. Her elder brother and sister, seeing how 
much taste and cleverness her drawing displayed, 
urged her to send it in on the day appointed for 
judging the cards and awarding the prizes. 

As Alice worked, she could not help building 
many bright castles in the air, though she wor- 
ried much over what she considered her faulty 

Vol. XII.— 34. 

See page 554. 




Alice was right when she said that many sacri- 
fices must be made, because of the family's heavy 
losses; and Katie, feeling the truth of this, made 
a resolute, though not invariably successful effort 
to show a bright and happy face to her care-worn 
father. She had, indeed, some shining exam- 
ples before her. First, there was her Mother, who 
tried to make home all the brighter after her hus- 
band's misfortunes ; and big brother Charlie (the 
clever man of the family), who gave up, in his 
quiet way, his most cherished plans, and set to 
work with a will, down-town ; and sister Annie, 
who countermanded her orders for new dresses, 
and betook herself instead to making over her old 
ones and those of her sisters. (Annie's merry voice, 
her busy fingers, and her fair musical talent did 
much toward making the family circle jollier). 
Then there was sister Alice's outwardly willing giv- 
ing up of her painting lessons (which was not accom- 
plished, however, without many inward struggles) ; 
and last, but not least, the bluff light-heartedness 
of her younger brothers, Phil and Harry, who 
considered it beneath their dignity as boys and 
as twins to give way to useless repinings and 

Three days after Alice's conversation with her 
younger sister, the Christmas-card was finished, 
carefully sealed up by Charlie, and carried to its 
destination by Alice. She had worked over her 
drawing with such care that every little, well-known 
defect stood out prominently in her memory, and 
she parted with it with many misgivings. She 
must wait three weeks to hear the result, and long 
before the time was up, Alice had quite given up 
any hope that she would ever hear of her design 

But it was otherwise decreed ; and one day Alice 
received a letter from the publishers, notifying her 
that on account of the originality displayed in her 
work and its conscientious treatment, her design 
had taken the second prize in the Christmas- 
card competition, and inclosing a check for one 
hundred and fifty dollars, the amount of the 

If you have ever earned any money yourself, you 
will be able to imagine Alice's feelings when she 
opened that envelope and read the brief, business- 
like note. I am sure that no girl was ever happier 
than she was at that moment, and certainly no 
family was ever prouder than Alice's family when 
they heard of her success. Mr. Browning's face 
wore a brighterlook than it had had for many weeks. 
Annie said ! " I knew you would get it, Alice ; I 'm 
so glad ! " and Katie and the twins gave boisterous 
expression to their satisfaction. Charlie read the 
letter aloud, to the delight of the whole family, 
and Alice was indeed the heroine of the hour, for 

the Brownings were a family who took a generous 
and unselfish pride in one another's accomplish- 
ments, and were always ready to rejoice heartily 
over every small triumph won by any member of the 
household. Alice's achievement seemed to them 
so " splendid," that it was some days before the 
excitement subsided. 

Of course, her best friend must at once be told 
of her good fortune ; and so the follow-ing afternoon 
Alice, who had scarcely been able to eat or sleep 
for happiness, posted off to tell Helen Martin 
about the prize. Helen, who had taken a great 
interest in the whole affair, was at home, and an 
animated conversation, of course, ensued. Alice 
explained about the letter, the check, the delight 
of the family, and her surprise, all in a breath ; and 
Helen, interrupting frequently to say, " How 
lovely!" or "I 'm so glad, Alice dear!" finally 
exclaimed, when the account was finished, "Well, 
Alice, what shall you do with the money ? " 

" Devote it to the cause of art, and take paint- 
ing lessons of Mr. Torrington," replied Alice. "He 
is a perfect teacher, you know, only I could n't 
afford the lessons, and so had to give up all idea of 
studying, which was very hard. Now I can have 
as many lessons as I like; is n't it lovely ? It seems 
terribly selfish, I know, to devote the money to my- 
self, but perhaps some of it will be left over for 
other things ; and I do so long to paint ! Is it 
very selfish in me ? " asked Alice, wistfully. 

" No, indeed, I should say," answered Helen. 
" You have earned the money yourself. You gave 
up your lessons this winter so willingly that you 
ought to have some reward ; and I don't think you 
could spend the prize money more wisely. Be- 
sides, you will improve famously under Mr. Torring- 
ton, and then you can earn more money by your 

The two girls could have spent much more time 
talking about the prize and other matters of in- 
terest, but it began to grow late ; and when Alice 
ran down the steps at the elevated station, the 
lamps had already begun to glimmer down the 
dark vista of the street. As she hurried on 
through the crowd, she could hardly keep from 
dancing, under the exhilarating effects of good 
spirits and frosty air. 

On her way home, Alice stopped for a moment 
at a street corner, her attention arrested by some- 
thing that she saw there. It was nothing very 
extraordinary, either. 

A wretched-looking woman, pale and bonnetless, 
her shoes worn through to the sidewalk, her hair 
falling untidily down her back, and her gaunt 
form barely covered by her tattered garments, 
stood holding in her arms a child as pale as her- 
self, with a deformed body and thin, pinched face. 



Both the woman and child were looking with 
longing eyes at the fruits displayed upon the stand 
of a street vender, which was lighted up by a 
flaring lamp. A girl, almost as miserably dressed 
as the woman, in clothes once gaudy but now dirty 
and ragged, came shuffling by. She stopped at 
the vender's stand and bought an orange ; turning, 
she saw the woman and the sick child with wistful 
eyes fixed on the bright golden fruit, and, as if 
from a sudden impulse, the girl thrust the orange 
into the woman's thin, grimy hand, and then, with- 
out waiting for any word of thanks, hurried away. 
Indeed, the woman was so astonished by the unex- 
pected act of kindness, that she only stood and 
watched the girl's retreating figure with a look of 
vague surprise and wonder on her face, and then 
walked slowly away in the opposite direction. 

When Alice saw that little act of unselfishness 
done by one poor person to another still poorer, 
her face grew suddenly grave, then a smile stole 
over it, — the smile that always accompanies a gen- 
erous impulse ; and when she reached her home 
she looked both thoughtful and determined. 

According to her custom, Mrs. Browning was 
resting before dinner, on her sofa in a favorite 
corner of the cozy, homelike parlor. The cheerful 
blaze of the open fire was the only light in the dim 
room, and Alice was glad to find her mother alone. 
They often had pleasant talks together in the twi- 
light, and it was evident that this evening Alice 
had something on her mind to say. She drew her 
chair up to the fire, and sat warming her hands 
before it and looking into its glowing depths. 

'"Well, dear," said her mother, "what have 
you decided to do with your money ? " 

" That 's just what I wished to talk to you 
about," replied Alice. "May I do just what I please 
with it, Mother ? " 

" Why not, Alice ? You have earned it and the 
honor, too. You gave a great deal of time and 
work to your drawing, and you certainly ought to 
spend your money just as you please. Buy whatever 
you wish with it, or, if you would prefer to lay aside 
your first earnings, do so ; only, whatever you do, 
think carefully first, and expend your little fortune 
wisely. It will be a good experience for you in the 
future, if you ever make anymore money, as I sin- 
cerely hope you will. You know you wished very 
much to take lessons in painting, this winter; 
perhaps that would be as wise a use for your 
money as any other. What do you think?" 

" Mamma," said Alice, as though following out 

some new train of thought, " what would it cost 
to send Birdie to school this winter ? " 

" About a hundred and fifty dollars, as she 
would be in a more advanced class this year ; but 
Papa thinks school out of the question. Why do 
you ask ? " 

"Because," said Alice, slowly, "she seemed 
so disappointed at having to leave school ; and 
she is so bright and anxious to learn, it seems a 
great pity that she should have to give it all up. I 
don't really need the money for anything. It was 
quite unexpected, and so I think I should like 
better than anything else to send Birdie back this 
winter to Miss Merritt's. You would n't mind, 
would you ? " 

"Mind, my dear? Xo, indeed!" replied the 
mother. " But I don't like to have you do that — 
it 's too great a sacrifice. You need the money 
yourself for many things. I wish you to think over 
the matter, and not be too hasty in your decision." 

" It 's not too great a sacrifice," said Alice, 
firmly. " I will think it over, but I am sure I 
shall not change my mind." 

" Come here, Alice," said Mrs. Browning; and 
she drew her tall daughter down to her. " I am 
even more proud of you now than when you told me 
you had won the prize ! I do not like to take advan- 
tage of your generous impulse, but I feel sure that 
you are in earnest and that you will not regret 
your choice." 

And so it was decided ; for Alice was a girl who, 
having once made up her mind, rarely turned 
aside from her purpose ; and Birdie went back to 
school, the happiest little girl imaginable. Mr. 
Browning did not at once return the money to 
Alice — not merely because he could not, but be- 
cause she had expressed herself willing to make 
the sacrifice and give up a cherished plan for her sis- 
ter ; and he wished her self-denial to work out its 
own results upon her character. 

When at last better times came — which was not 
for many a long month — Alice resumed her paint- 
ing, working with that patience and faithfulness 
which are the evidence of a real love for art. Mean- 
while she had no cause to repent her self-sacri- 
fice, and I do not think she did. Birdie's bright 
face and the good reports of her teachers were an 
ample reward, aside from the proud and lov- 
ing looks of both her parents, the cordial appro- 
bation and admiration of Annie and Charlie, and 
the two hearty kisses from the demonstrative twins, 
who pronounced Alice a " trump " and a " daisy." 







By Annie C. Goater. 

Mamma and Papa had decided to go to the 
great New Orleans Exposition, but what to do 
with Joe and Jean was the problem that puzzled 

Papa, from the first, was in favor of taking them 
along, saying that the travel and sight-seeing 
would do the little folk more good than a month 
at school. But Mamma said no ; children were 
such a care in traveling, and always getting into 
mischief of some kind; in fact, she would have no 
peace whatever with them ; they would be much 
better off, she thought, with Grandma Dean and 
Aunt Fanny. 

So it was all arranged that they should go to 
Grandma's, while Papa bought the tickets that 
were to convey himself and Mamma to the sunny 
South for a few weeks of sight-seeing. 

But it happened that, at the very last moment. 
Grandma Dean was taken with one of her bad 
rheumatic turns, requiring all Aunt Fanny's time 
and attention to nurse her; so it was out of the 
question to think of sending a hearty boy of four- 
teen and a lively little girl often, who never could 
keep still for more than two minutes at a time, to 
a place where the least little sound would cause 
pain to poor Grandma's aching body. 

It was now altogether too late to think of making 



any other arrangements, so the only 
thing to be done was to take the chi] 
dren along ; and this is how it came 
about that our young people went to 
the Exposition without having in the least ex- 
pected it. 

The morning after their arrival in New Orleans, 
while Mamma, who was somewhat fatigued after 
the long journey, remained at the hotel to rest, 
Joe and Jean started off with Papa to make their 
first visit to the great Exposition. 

The grounds were about four miles distant 
from their hotel, and as they rode slowly along in 
the horse-cars (which, however, were drawn by 
mules instead of horses), they had a good oppor- 
tunity to see something of the city. 

Papa pointed out to them how different the New 
Orleans houses were from those at home. They 
were low and broad, nearly all of them having 
either little balconies, or wide piazzas running en- 
tirely around the outside ; while in almost every 
yard the orange-trees, with their golden fruit, 
glistened in the sunshine. 

On entering the grounds, Jean's attention was 
first attracted by the magnificent live-oak trees, 
which, with the delicate gray moss depending from 
their limbs, form a grand avenue leading to Horti- 
cultural Hall. 

Never in all her life had she seen anything so 
beautiful. " Do let us go over there and sit under 
those lovely trees for just a minute, Papa," she 

i88 5 .) 



said. So infatuated was the little girl with the big 
trees and pretty moss, that she could hardly be 
prevailed on to go to the main building until Joe 
said he could n't see " what fun a girl found in 
just sitting still under a tree. If she only knew 
how to climb one, there would be some sense in 

As Jean never attempted to contradict anything 
Joe said, thinking him one of the wisest and best 
of boys, she allowed herself to be silently led away 
in the direction of the main building. 

This large structure, Papa told them, covered 
thirty-three acres of ground — the largest space 
ever inclosed under one roof. 

Entering by the main door, they found them- 
selves in front of the Music Hall, situated in about 
the center of the build- 
ing, and capable of seat- 
ing a great many people. 
It was here that during 
the holiday season the 
big Christmas-tree was 
placed, laden with all 
sorts of nice presents for 
the children. 

Papa told Joe and Jean 
that they must be careful 
not to tire themselves 
out by attempting too 
much during this first 
visit, as they would be 
able to come out to the 
Exposition very often be- 
fore returning home. The 
best plan, he thought, 
would be to stroll lei- 
surely through the vari- 
ous buildings, so as to 
form a general idea of 
what there was to be 
seen, while on other days 
they could give more 
time to whatever objects 
specially interested them. 

In the main building, 
they found that the dif- 
ferent foreign govern- 
ments here had their ex- 
hibits ; while business 
firms, representing vari- 
ous cities of this country, 
displayed their wares in 
the most tempting man- 

of all kinds ; and during the day the din and clat- 
ter made in this section were really distracting. 

From here it was but a step to the Government 
building. This structure, though not as large as 
the main edifice, was fully as interesting and in- 
structive ; for the geography and resources of our 
country could here be studied in a very practical 
manner by means of the various natural and in- 
dustrial products of the different States, which were 
arranged in their respective sections in proper 
order. A careful survey of the numerous govern- 
ment exhibits could not but improve the mind of 
any boy or girl fortunate enough to see them. 

Next in order came the building containing the 
live-stock. Here Joe was greatly delighted over 
some magnificent Percheron horses, while Jean 



ner, to hue the passers-by to pause and examine hovered near the dear little Shetland ponii 

their goods. wished she might take home just one. 

Almost one half of the vast building had been As the children were now beginning to tire some- 
given over to machinery and mechanical inventions what. Papa took them over to Horticultural Hall 




for a brief rest; and there, amid the waving palms, 
blooming cocoanut-trees, and other tropical plants, 
they forgot all about the 
snow and ice they had 
so recently left at home. 

Many times during 
their stay of a month in 
the city all the family 
visited the Exposition, 
and Mamma was forced 
to admit that Joe and 
Jean behaved very well, 
and that she should nev- 
er again think of leav- 
ing them at home when 
planning to go away. 

There were few things 
of interest in the dif- 
ferent buildings that es- 
caped the searching eyes 
of the little boy and girl, 
for what one failed to see 
the other would spy out ; 
and as most of the strange sights were described 
in several letters, written at this time, I can hardly 
do better than copy Joe's epistle to his school- 
chum, Fred, who lives in New York, and Jean's 



Hotel Royal, New Orleans, Feb. 23d, '85. 

Dear Fred: I believe I promised, when leaving school, to write 
you something about the Exposition. Well, I 've been so busy 
since I came here, going out to the Exposition grounds, or roaming 
over the old French quarter with Papa, that when night comes I 
am too tired to do anything but go to bed. To-day it is raining 
hard, and Papa, Mamma, and Jean all are writing letters; so I 
think, while I feel like it, I will send one off to you. 

The Exposition is the biggest thing I have ever seen (I was too 
little to go to the Centennial, you know), and it has lots and lots of 
most splendid things in it. 

In the main building there is a stuffed bird called the Quatzel, that 
I think is very interesting. The boy who takes care of the stand 
where it is told me all about it the other day. 

The bird is a native of Guatemala, and looks something like a 
parrot, only its tail feathers are longer. The queer thing about it is, 
that if you only pull out one of its feathers the bird dies right away, 
and if a person succeeds in catching one, and puts it in a cage, it goes 
to work and pulls out its own feathers, — commits suicide, as it were, — 
as it will not live if deprived of its liberty. I asked the boy if it knew 
how to sing, and he went to work and made just the funniest noise 
with his lips all puckered up, and said that was something like the 
cry it uttered. Have you ever heard of this bird before? 

Another thing I like in this same building is a little house that 
was built in China. It is made of bamboo. There is a great big red 
dragon on top that 's tremendous ; he keeps snorting out steam all the 
time. I wish we could have a dragon like that for our circus. When 
you go inside the little house they give you a cup of tea to drink. 

There is any quantity of machinery here for doing all sorts of 
work. This, I suppose, you would like best of all, as you are fond 
of such things ; but ever since I almost took the top of my thumb off 
with Uncle Will's patent lawn-mower, I don't care so much for 
machines; they make too much noise for me. 

In the Government building there are so many interesting things 

Louisiana's little and eig alligators. 
letter to her cousin Daisv, whose papa is an army- *at I hardly know which to tell you about. Each of the States 

-_ ... .,'-.,. r rr has been given a certain amount of space, which it has filled with 

officer and lives with his family in a fort away off a „ sorts of things that belong particularly t0 lhat State . 

Somewhere in Dakota. Louisiana has a big alligator almost twenty feet long, while right 



beside it is the cutest little baby alligator you ever saw, just coming 
out of the egg. The big alligator has its mouth wide open, and I 
know I should n't care to have been around when it was alive in the 
water and opened that mouth. 

Not far from the alligators are some of the relics of the Greely re- 
lief expedition. Life-sized figures, dressed up in furs, show exactly 
what they wear in the Arctic regions ; there are also sleeping bags 

try. Papa made me look at them very carefully, because he said they 
would do me good. 

How is the skating and sleighing at home, now? It is nice and 
warm down here ; still, I should feel very bad if I thought I should 
never see any more snow again. I wish, when you have a chance, 
you would go round to Mr. Graham's and see how my dog Chips is 
getting along; hope the old fellow is n't fretting after me I am 



made of reindeer's skin, hospital tents, sleds laden with provisions, 
different kinds of clothing, and a number of other interesting arti- 
cles. Besides these, there are some photographs that show you, as 
plain as can be, just what it looks like up there. 

Fred, I wish you could see the statues, houses, and different 
things they have made out of grain sent on from the West. One of 
the Stales has a copy of the Statue of Liberty that we are going to 
have down in New York harbor, made out of wheat, while another 
has a large figure meant to represent the goddess Ceres, that is 
very beautiful. Dakota has an obelisk composed of different col- 
ored ears of corn, some of them so red that you would surely think 
they had been painted; perched on top, on a sheaf of wheat, is a 
big American Eagle, 

Besides the things I have told you about, there are samples of 
work done by boys and girls in different schools all over the coun- 

going to bring him home a new collar from the Exposition. I must 
close now, as I have written a very long letter. 

Your school-mate, Joe. 

Jean's letter ran thus : 

Hotel Royal, New Orleans, Feb. 23d, '85. 
Dear Daisy : I do so wish you were down here with us ! We are 
having splendid times, going somewhere almost every day. I have 
been out to the Exposition a number of times, and think I have seen 
very nearly everything there. In the main building at one of the 
stands they have two of the funniest pigs you ever saw. In the mid- 
dle of the floor there is a table set all ready for dinner, with a big 
ham in the center, while on each side stand Mr. and Mrs. Pig. 





Mrs. Pig has on a lovely yellow satin Mother Hubbard, trimmed 
with red satin around the bottom and lace around the neck ; while 
in her hand, which is one of her front feet, you know, she has a big 

seem possible that some day they will only be ham like that on the 
table and that somebody will eat them up. 

Poor things ! J should think it would worry them to think about 
it. But of course a stuffed pig can't think ; so it is all right anyhow. 

In the same building the Chinese Government have built a pa- 
goda and filled it with a great many interesting things. Papa and 
Mamma have spent hours there, looking at the curiosities, but I 
could n't get interested tn them, because I did n't know what they 
were for, until Papa explained them to me. 

One thing I knew, though — a baby's chair ; for it has a figure of a 
baby sitting in it, with a queer-looking nurse standing alongside. 

The baby's chair is made of bamboo; and when baby is put in it 
there is a piece that presses up close against its waist and holds the 
poor little thing a tight prisoner. In front, on rods, are a few little 
rings for baby to play with; to run these up and down is all the 
amusement the little one can have. 

I should think all the babies who see this chair and think of their 
own little willow chairs with pretty ribbons on at home would be glad 
that they do not live in China. The baby represented in this chair 
has just a little bit of hair in front ; all the rest of its head is bald. 
I guess that little bit is the beginning of what will be its cue some 

One of the sights I like best of all is old John Anderson and his 
wife, with their dog and cat, all made out of the purest and whitest 
cotton ; this belongs to the State of Louisiana. The old lady is 
knitting a stocking, and the ball of yarn has dropped from her lap; 
pussy is doing her best to tangle it all up. Mr. Anderson, who 
seems like a real kind old man, leans heavily on his cane, while the 
dog sits at his feet and looks as if he never in his life would worry 
pussy, or anybody else. Behind the old people is a bird, also made 
of cotton, meant to represent the American Eagle. Everybody who 
looks at this group thinks it just splendid. I am sure I do. 

Daisy, do you like to write compositions? I hate them! for I 
never can write anything that sounds well. Mamma made me go 


sunflower. The buttons down the front of her dress represent little 
hams, and arc too cute for anything. 

Mr. Pig, on the other side of the table, has on a black swallow- 
tail coat, light vest, and yellow trousers, with a high standing collar 
and red necktie, and looks just as lovely as Mrs. Pig. They both 
appear so pleased and innocent in their line clothes that it does n't 

over with her and read some compositions that were written by little 
Indian girls who go to school in Colorado. I felt ashamed; some 
of them were so good, and nicely written, with no blots either. 

The pictures they made were real funny, though. Mamma said 
it was their being " out of perspective " that made them look so queer. 
Under every one of them they would write, "This is a Dog;" 



"This is a Chicken " ; just as if you could not tell what they were 

meant for. 

How many dolls have you now, and what are their names? Are 
there many little girls at the new fort where you are living? And is 
it very cold up there ? I like it here because it is so warm, and you 
can have roses in the garden all winter, besides picking oranges 

right off the trees. Joe, now that he has seen the Exposition, is in 
a hurry to get back home, as he wants to try the new skates Uncle 
Will gave him last Christmas ; but I prefer summer to winter. Give 
my love to Uncle Rob and Aunt Carrie, and a kiss to baby Sue. 
Write to me soon. Your loving cousin, 




(Recollections of a Page in t!ic United Stotes Senate.) 

By Edmund Alton. 

Chapter XII. 


Let us now revert to the events following the 
inauguration of 1873, to which I have referred in 
an earlier chapter. Returning to our Chamber, 
the Vice-President resumed the chair at 12:47 
o'clock, the ceremonies on the portico having oc- 
cupied not half an hour. After the passage of the 
usual resolutions, fixing the hour of daily meeting 
and providing for the notification of the President 
that the Senate had convened in obedience to his 

proclamation, the Senate adjourned to the follow- 
ing Thursday. 

This special session of the Senate was called by 
the President, principally, if not wholly, to have 
that body act upon his nominations of men to 
office. The session being purely for the transac- 
tion of executive business, no legislation was per- 
missible. There was no House of Representatives, 
and would be none until the following December, 
unless an extraordinary occasion should in the 
meantime arise requiring the exercise of its power. 

After appointing its committees for the session, 
and attending to the business submitted bv the 

' Copyright, 1884, bv Edmund Alton. All rights reserved. 




President, on the twenty-sixth day of March, with 
the usual formalities, the Senate adjourned, to meet 
again, however, on the first Monday in December, 
unless called together again by the President before 
that time. 

During the course of its proceedings, it ap- 
pointed Senator Carpenter to be President of the 
Senate pro tempore * to act as presiding officer dur- 
ing the absence of the Vice-President, who was not 
able to attend every day. This position of President 
pro tempore is a very important one. If the Presi- 
dent of the United States die or otherwise become 
incapable of performing the duties of that office, 
they devolve upon the Vice-President, and the Pres- 
ident of the Senate pro tempore becomes the acting 
Vice-President of the United States ; and, in the 
event of the death of both the President and Vice- 
President, the President of the Senate pro tem- 
pore acts as President of the United States until 
the election of another President as provided by 
law. In Great Britain and many other nations 
of the world the succession to the throne depends 
upon blood relationship. Those nations are there- 
fore not likely ever to be without persons to act as 
rulers. Our line of succession, however, is very 
short — after the President of the Senate pro tem- 
pore comes the Speaker of the House, and beyond 
that no provision has been made by Congress 
under the authority conferred upon it by the Con- 
stitution. But at the time of which I write, there 
was no House, and consequently no Speaker ; so 
if the President and Vice-President as well as the 
President of the Senate pro tempore had died, after 
the adjournment of that special session, the Gov- 
ernment would have had no head. 

Such a state of affairs would have been, to say 
the least, very inconvenient. And we were not long 
ago on the brink of just such a condition of things. 
When President Garfield died there was no Speaker 
of the House, and the Senate had carelessly ad- 
journed without choosing a President pro tempore. 
Providentially, Vice-President Arthur was alive, and 
he assumed the office of President. Had anything 
happened to him, there might have been confu- 
sion. So alarmed were many people about it 
that, when Congress met, it was asked to pass a 
law creating a longer line of succession, in order to 
guard against such an emergency again occurring. 
You would naturally suppose, from the anxiety 
that prevailed, that Congress made such a law at 
once. But it did not ; and, although several years 
have elapsed, no such law has yet been enacted. 
If you have influence with any members of Con- 
gress, it might be well to call their attention to 
this subject, and urge upon them the importance 
of taking action in the matter. 

The Senate remained in session long enough for 

us to become acquainted with the new senators, 
and then we separated. During that long vaca- 
tion of eight months, we pages, like the senators, 
scattered ourselves over the entire country, one 
going to California and another to Maine. We 
indulged in the ordinary juvenile delights; but, 
although we had a grand time, we were only too 
happy when the first of December came around 
and both Houses again convened. 

There was nothing unusual about the proceed- 
ings of the Senate on the opening day. So I went 
over to the House of Representatives. This was 
the beginning of the first regular session of the 
Forty-third Congress, and at twelve o'clock the 
clerk of the last House (there being no Speaker) 
called the members to order. After a call of the 
roll, the clerk said : 

" Two hundred and eighty-one members having 
answered to their names, being more than a quo- 
rum, the clerk is now ready to receive a motion to 
proceed to the election of Speaker." 

Several members arose and suggested the names 
of various persons ; but every one knew before- 
hand who would be elected. The Republicans 
were in the majority, and prior to the meeting of 
the House, they had come together and held a 
caucus. A caucus is a secret session of Congress- 
men all of the same party, in which they talk over 
the policy of legislation and other matters, and 
agree to act together. The Republicans of the 
House, as well as those of the Senate, have fre- 
quent caucuses ; so also do the Democrats. In this 
particular caucus, the Republican members of the 
House had agreed to nominate and vote for James 
G. Blaine as Speaker. He had been the Speaker 
of the preceding House. Tellers were appointed, 
and, as the majority of the House voted for Mr. 
Blaine, he was declared by the clerk duly elected 
Speaker of the House of Representatives of the 
Forty-third Congress. He was conducted to the 
chair by two of the members, and made a brief 
address; whereupon, Mr. Dawes, at the request 
of the Clerk, administered the oath to the Speaker. 
Then the Speaker swore in the members in 
attendance, and after the election of a clerk, ser- 
geant-at-arms, door-keeper, postmaster, and chap- 
lain, the organization of the House was complete. 
The appointment of committees being the privi- 
lege of the Speaker, it required several days for 
him to make up the list ; but, with this exception, 
the House was ready to. begin making laws. 

The House having notified the Senate of its or- 
ganization, there remained but one other interest- 
ing feature of the proceedings. Every member 
naturally wished the best seat in the hall that he 
could obtain ; and as all of them could not be 

'For the time being." 



satisfied, the question was determined by a game 
of chance. The clerk placed in a box as many 
slips of paper as there were representatives, each 
bearing the name of a representative, and he then 
drew these slips from the box one at a time. (The 
member oldest in continuous service, and also Mr. 
Alexander H. Stephens, who, on account of his 
age and infirmity, was " entitled to consideration 
on the part of the House," were permitted to 
choose seats before the drawing commenced.) 
Then all the other members retired beyond the 
outer row, and each representative, as the slip 
bearing his name was drawn and called, came for- 
ward and selected a seat. It was quite an amus- 
ing performance ; the law-makers enjoyed the fun 
fully as much as did the spectators in the gallery; 
and the countenances of the fortunate members 
beamed with the smiles of childish joy. 

In the Senate, this matter of seats is settled in a 
different way. At the beginning of every Congress, 
the newly elected senators choose from among the 
vacant seats in the order in which each senator 
notifies Captain Bassett, on the principle of " first 
come, first served ; " and if they do not get satis- 
factory seats, they " speak " for other seats, in the 
event of such seats becoming vacant during their 
term of office. Captain Bassett keeps a record of 
all these requests in a book, and often the same 
seat will be spoken for by three or four senators. 
I remember one senator, who had a seat very 
desirable on account of its location, who became 
suddenly ill — so ill that he was not expected 
to live. Several of the other senators applied for 
his seat ; and, when the senator heard of it, he 
declared he would not die. And he did not ; he 
even lived to see the seats of these senators who 
had spoken for his become vacant. 

Within a few days both Houses were in running 
order, and things went on quietlyforseveralmonths. 
But on the eleventh of March, 1874, the monotony 
was broken. My attention on that day was at- 
tracted to this unusual language used by the Chap- 
lain of the Senate in his opening prayer : 

" We miss some of our number, who are withdrawn from these 
seats and are lying prostrate with sickness and disease; and espe- 
cially one who but yesterday came into this Chamber with all the 
presence of his manly form, but now, when we meet again this 
morning, lies close to the edge of the dark river." 

When the Journal had been read, Senator Sher- 
man moved to adjourn, and the motion was agreed 
to without a voice being heard, after a session of 
only nine minutes. Every one whom I met in the 
Senate, and throughout the building, was silent 
and sad. I soon ascertained the cause. Senator 
Sumner was dying ! It was hard to realize the 
sad fact. Only the preceding day he had been in 
the Senate, apparently in the best of spirits ; and I 

remember his calling me to him and making some 
pleasant remarks as he whittled the end of his 
pen-holder. That pen I have to-day, the last he 
ever used in the Senate, and probably in the world. 

I went to the House of Representatives to get 
away from the gloom, but found the shadow wher- 
ever I went. I remained in the Hall of Repre- 
sentatives until three o'clock, and was just on the 
point of leaving, when the Speaker arose and in a 
trembling voice remarked : 

" The Chair lays before the House the following 
telegram this moment received." And then, amid 
painful silence and suspense, the Clerk read: 

" Senator Sumner died at ten minutes before three o'clock." 

The effect of the announcement was startling. 
The vast audience seemed dazed and actually at a 
loss for breath, and the House at once adjourned. 
It is needless to describe the sensation produced 
throughout the city. The news of that death in- 
stantly spread like a pall over the country, and 
caused profound national grief. 

The next day the Senate adjourned after pass- 
ing resolutions in regard to the funeral arrange- 
ments, and the House did likewise. On Friday, 
the thirteenth, the Senate assembled at the usual 
hour. The desk and chair of the deceased senator 
were covered with crape, and the walls of the room 
were heavily draped in mourning. The senators 
came in noiselessly. The air was oppressive, and the 
Senate floor and galleries were strangely silent when 
the Diplomatic Corps arrived, dressed in black, 
and took the seats prepared for them. Then en- 
tered the House of Representatives in a body, the 
senators standing as the members were being 
seated ; following the representatives came the 
Supreme Court of the United States, and the 
President and his Cabinet. 

Immediately afterward the Committee of Ar- 
rangements was announced. Then came a solemn 
procession : the casket containing the remains of 
the dead statesman borne by six officers, and 
escorted by the Committee of Arrangements of 
the House and Senate, the pall-bearers and mourn- 
ers. As the cortege entered, the Chaplain of the 
Senate, who preceded it, slowly repeated the words : 

" I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me, 
though he were dead, yet shall be live, — " 

All the people rose reverently to their feet and 
stood, with bowed heads, while the procession 
moved slowly to the catafalque in front of the Sec- 
retary's desk. 

After an impressive pause, the religious services 
were begun by the Chaplain of the House and the 
Chaplain of the Senate. After they were con- 




eluded, the Vice-President pro tempore (Senator 
Carpenter) said : 

"The services appointed to be performed by the Committee of 
Arrangements having terminated, the Senate of the United States 
intrusts the mortal remains of Charles Sumner to its Sergeant- 
at-Arms and a Committee appointed by it, charged with the 
melancholy duty of conveying them to his home, there to be com- 
mitted earth to earth, in the soil of the Commonwealth of Massa- 
chusetts. Peace to his ashes ! " 

The procession again formed, and as it left the 
Chamber the spectators rose, glancing after it with 
eyes almost obscured by tears. At three o'clock 
the funeral train, all draped in black, left the rail- 
road station, while the church-bells of the city 
tolled mournfully. 

The ceremonies reminded me of those 1 had 
witnessed at the Capitol just a year before. Yet 
what a contrast ! Then the city was in holiday 
attire, and the nation rejoiced at the beginning of 
a new Administration. On this occasion the city 
was shrouded in the emblems of grief. And, as Sen- 
ator Anthony feelingly said, " the sad intelligence 
of the death of this great senator had extended 
beyond the shores of our own country, arousing pro- 
found regret and sympathy' wherever humanity 
weeps for a friend, ' wherever liberty deplores an 
advocate.' " 

Upon the death of a senator or representative, 
it is customary for both Houses to set aside a day 
for memorial services.* In accordance with this 
usage, the Senate, on the 27th of April, resolved, 
"That, as an additional mark of respect to the 
memory of Charles Sumner, long a senator from 
Massachusetts, business be now suspended, that 
the friends and associates of the deceased may pay 
fitting tribute to his public and private virtues." 
The House, on the same day, " in sympathy with 
the action of the Senate," adopted a similar reso- 

I need not dwell upon what was said. Partisan 
animosities were forgotten, and men of opposite 
political faiths vied with one another in eulogizing 
the life and character of the dead senator. The 
demonstration in Congress was but one of many 
held throughout the country. At last, every one 
was able to look calmly and dispassionately upon 
the deeds of the great senator, and estimate them 
at their worth. But it had not been so during his 
career. His independence and fearlessness of 
thought and action had aroused the fury of all 
parties ; and partisan hate is almost implacable. 
When Charles Sumner entered upon his duties as 
a senator, he was treated by his adversaries in the 
Senate in a manner which violated all the courte- 
sies of that body. He died — respected by all, one 
of the foremost statesmen of the age. 

It is not the design nor province of these papers 

to criticise political factions or their principles. 
Parties, like the men composing them, are neces- 
sarily fallible; they have their virtues — they have 
also imperfections. Good, upright citizens enter- 
tain opposite political views ; and the man of hon- 
est convictions, with the courage to express them, 
— although ive may think them erroneous, — is al- 
ways entitled to our respect. 

But a politician is one thing — a statesman is 
another. The former will favor any party in or- 
der to gain personal advantage ; the latter will 
oppose all parties in the maintenance of what he 
conceives to be right. And it was because Charles 
Sumner was a statesman, that honorable men 
of all shades of opinion joined in honoring his 
memory by testifying to the purity of his motives 
and the exalted dignity of his life. The sincerity 
of his convictions none could question ; and those 
familiar with the perils and the opposition he had 
encountered in their utterance best understood the 
moral grandeur of his character. 

I can not enter into a detailed account of his sen- 
atorial life. It is sure to be found in any complete 
history of his country. I will only say that his first 
great speech in the Senate, delivered in August, 
1852, contained this noble declaration, which was 
true of his entire public life: 


He lived to see the triumph of the principles 
which he was then advocating in the face of most 
bitter opposition ; and the tribute paid to his mem- 
ory by his friend and associate, Senator Anthony, 
was as just as it was eloquent. " His eulogy is his 
life ; his epitaph is the general grief; his monu- 
ment, builded by his own hands, is the eternal 
statutes of freedom." 

A friend of humanity, his policy was peace, 
and the settlement of disputes between nations by 
arbitration instead of by war was one of his fond- 
est dreams. Possessed of such benignant senti- 
ments, on December 2, 1872, he introduced a 
bill which he requested to have "read in full 
for information." I shall give it here; for to 
carry it to the desk was one of my first acts as a 
page. It was as follows : 

"A Bill to regulate the A rwy Register and the Regimental Colors 
of the United States. 

" Whereas, the national amity and good-will among fellow- 
citizens can be assured only through oblivion of past differences, 
and it is contrary to the usage of civilized nations to perpetuate the 
memory of civil war : Therefore, 

"Be it enacted by ttie Senate ami House of Representatives of the 
United States of America in Congress assembled. That the names 
of battles with fellow-citizens shall not be continued in the Army 
Register or placed on the regimental colors of the United States." 

The bill was ordered to be printed, and that 
was the end of its pilgrimage in Congress. It 

* Upon the termination of the exercises, it is also usual, as a further mark of respect, to adjourn for the day. 

1885. 1 



never became a law. But it was discussed else- 


The Legislature of Massachusetts heard 

of it with deepest indignation. The act of Sen- 
ator Sumner was stigmatized as "an attempt 
to degrade the loyal soldiery of the Union and 
their grand achievements"; and a resolution of 
censure was introduced and passed by the legisla- 
ture of the State which had made him its senator. 
The men who voted for it could not have known 
their senator well. His whole life was a contradic- 
tion of the charge. 

The resolution of censure was an injustice, which 
would have provoked some men to wrath. But 
with Mr. Sumner it occasioned not anger but 
grief. He had served his State for more than 
twenty years ; and it had stood proudly by him 
in all his efforts. That it should now, after his 
long and faithful career, misinterpret his motives, 
and seem to brand him with reproach, was perhaps 
the saddest blow he had ever sustained. The effect 
upon him was visible not only to friends but to 
strangers. His manner betrayed how it bore upon 
his mind. Yet that session wore away and Decem- 
ber appeared, and the senator was again found at 

(To I, 

his seat on the opening day, this time to introduce 
his famous Civil Rights Bill — the first bill of the ses- 
sion. But, as the days slipped by, his face was less 
frequently seen in the Senate. December, January, 
February passed — his visits were few and brief. 

On the 10th of March, however, he was in attend- 
ance. I remember it well. I had not seen him 
for quite a while, and he called me to his desk. I 
thought he looked more cheerful than usual, and 
I asked after his health. As he whittled a pen, 
he smilingly chatted with me, and stated that he 
had come to the Senate to hear pleasant news. He 
had scarcely made the remark, when Senator 
Boutwell, his colleague, arose and sent up to the 
clerk's desk to be read a resolution of the Massa- 
chusetts Legislature. As the clerk proceeded, all 
eyes turned upon Senator Sumner who was eagerly 
listening. It was a resolution rescinding the vote 
of censure ! Within a few moments after the 
reading, the senator left the Chamber, and, as I 
parted from him at the door, he shook hands 
kindly, and said : " Good-bye ! " 

Those were his last words to me. The next day 
he was dead! 

•ontiivued. ) 


By Anna M. Pratt. 

J^jL-/ ITTLE Penelope took up her 

She sat on the floor and tipped over the basket 
Till she found some pieces, blue, yellow, and red; 
She cut with her scissors some criss-cross patches. 
"1 '11 make my dolly a quilt," she said. 

And tied a knot at the end She put in her needle, this way and that way : 

of her thread ; She pushed and she pulled till her fingers bled : 

And when she had found her thimble And when she had twisted, and puckered and 

finger, knotted. — 

Now I must learn to sew," she said. " My doll has a crazy quilt!" she said. 




By Mary L. B. Branch. 



Breakfast was over; little Nan, 
Home-loving and sweet-hearted, 

With school-books, bag, and slate in hand, 
Glanced clockward ere she started. 

Perhaps he missed the little girl, 
Her ringing song and laughter,— 

For certainly his face was changed 
To greet her, hours after. 

" Oh, see ! " she said. " The poor old clock 
Is sorry time is flying, 
The corners of his mouth turn down, 
As if he felt like crving ! " 

Just as she entered, fresh from school, 
Her voice all care beguiling, 

The corners of his mouth turned up, — 
The dear old clock was smiling ! 


i88 5 .; 




I AM going to tell you about one of the prettiest 
little houses that children ever had. 

My brother and I wanted a house. We had once 
had a wigwam of cut boughs, where we could live 
all day and give parties; but nobody volunteered 
to make us another, so we planned a house that we 
could make for ourselves, and that you can make 
for yourselves. He was eleven and I was thirteen. 

The only indispensable requisites are two or three 
large balls of strong string (strong cotton string 
will do), a quantity of morning-glory seed, a few 
tacks and small nails, some hempen cord or rope, 
and the use of spade, garden-fork, trowel, scissors, 
a penknife, an old table-knife, a tape-line, and per- 
haps a yard-stick, wheelbarrow, watering-pot, and 

a little step-ladder. But it is all important for the 
existence of this house that at no time in the sum- 
mer are cows or horses to be let in upon it. 

The plan grew as we worked, but I will give it 
to you complete. 

The first thing to do, after getting the morning- 
glory seeds, is to plant some in a box in the house, 
early in April or as soon after that as possible — 
unless it is already warm weather in May. and time 
to plant corn ; if so, plant them out-of-doors, accord- 
ing to directions, which will be given further on. 

We found in a far-off corner of the yard, a tree, the 
lower boughs of which spread out horizontally eight 
or ten feet from the ground. The central peak of 
our main building was to be fastened on a firm part 



of a bough, immovable even in wind-storms, and 
at least six feet from the trunk (see R, Fig. 2). We 
found such a point, where also a lesser, but stout, 
long bough, branched out sideways (b a G, Fig. 
16), because we wanted it for the ridge-pole of a 
square wing-room ; but that is not positively neces- 
sary. Lest there might be difficulty in remember- 


JFitf. 2. 

making a door-space thirty inches wide. By meas- 
uring from B to one side of this door, we got our 
radius, and laid out this second circle, marking it 
out with sticks as before, except across the door- 
space (see Fig. 5). 

To mark out the square room ground-plan, we 
chose point G, Fig. 16, drove in two tacks, and 




Ifa/. J. 

ing this point, or in keeping the strings from 
slipping when they were put over it, we drove in 
there two big tacks, about an inch apart, to make 
all safe (see Fig. 3). 

The next thing was to lay out the ground-plan. 
From R (Fig. 2), the chosen point of the bough, a 

plummet (a stone 

tied to a string) 

'*? was dropped, 

to find our 

floor -center. 

J^'ff- 6. 

/a -F*g- ?• 



A ; from \ ■ 

which, \ 

withastring '•-., ; • g; 

five feet long, '•, . , 

■ * S Cf 

we laid out a circle, marking it '-..._ «?.•; , 

closely with sticks stuck in the '. 

ground (see Fig. 4). \ 

We found another good point, on a \ 
bough (T, Fig. 13, 14, or 15), at which to ' -..^ 
fasten the peak of our second, smaller, circu- 
lar room, and drove in there a second pair of 
tacks. Between these two tack-marked points on 
the boughs (see R and T, Fig. 13), we stretched a 
large hemp cord very tight and fastened it, nailing 
it firm when tying proved not sufficient. Dropping 
the plummet from T, we found our second center, B 
(Fig. 5 ). Drawing a straight line between A and B, 
we marked e on the big circle, and pulled up the 
row of sticks for fifteen inches on each side off, 

dropped a plummet to find C, the middle point of 

its back-wall ground-line. From C to A, the 

floor-center of the main building, we stretched a 

string along the ground (A C, Fig. 6), fastening it 

at the ends, for the moment, with sticks. About 

two and one-half feet from this string, and parallel 

to it on the ground, we stretched and fastened two 

other strings, kx and dz, and another, xz, through 

C at right angles with them. Taking away string 

A C, we now had the three sides, k x, x z, 

andr</. We marked them out with sticks, and 

then took away the strings. We made 

- p, another thirty-inch door-space at i 

/ '"<_ (Fig. 7). 

yZ. Also at 0, about opposite the 
4/^ / tree trunk, we made a door-space 

. Us 1 

inches wide. 

Our line of mark- 
ing sticks now stood 
as in Fig. 7, H being 
the tree trunk. 

The shape of our tree decided somewhat the plan 
of our house, and the plan of yours may be settled 
likewise ; but the remaining directions can prob- 



ably be followed very closely. Two inches out- 
side of the row of sticks, mark another line all 
around by cutting through the sod, and eight inches 
beyond that still another. (Sharpen your knife on 
any stone if it does not cut the sod easily. ) Then 
take spade and trowel and remove the sod entirely 
from between these two outer lines, carefully 
squaring at each side of the front door space the 
ends of this long winding flower-bed, — or vine-bed, 
as we now may call it (see Fig. 8) ; also, at each of 
the four square dots, s, ///, //, //. Fig. 7, inside the 
doors of the lesser rooms, cut out a patch of sod 
about eight inches long and six inches wide ; the 
shape of the walls making these little beds neces- 
sary, as you will find out when the vines grow up. 

Now spade up your beds, and fill them with some 
rich earth and whatever fertilizer the gardener ad- 
vises, used in just the quantity and way that he 
advises. This is the stage at which seeds should 
be planted. (See directions, page 547.) 

Next get about one hundred small, strong, 
forked sticks, one end of the fork being perhaps six 
inches long, and the other only one or two. The 

bough between the tacks at R, letting the knot come 
underneath. Then extend the string to the first 
pebble, c, on the side of door-space <•, wind it se- 
curely around the fork placed at that point, but with- 
out cutting it, and then let it be put first under 
the bough and then over (see Fig. 3) at R, between 
the tacks again ; then extend it to the first pebble, 
s (of Fig. 9), on the side of door-space /', fork it 
in, hand it up again, let it be put over the bough 
in the same place, always crossing underneath in 
the same way ; fork it in at pebble v, put it over 
the bough again ; then to pebble v, and so on till 
you complete this small section of wall between the 
two doors. Now, with a pin, fasten your string to 
the mass of strings on the bough ; you would bet- 
ter not cut it, especially as you must find out, by 
experimenting on this small section of wall, how 
tightly to pull the upright strings. They will answer 
for a wall if left straight as they are, and, being 
double, will be quite strong (see Fig. 10). Fig. 10 
and Fig. 1 1 have only one door each, that you may 
better see the styles of wall ; but, tied together, two 
and two alternately, into diamonds, as shown in Fig. 

-Fig. 8% 







longer end mav i . 

need to be sharp- T • 

ened a little. '■, 
These sticks : 

when driven into \ Flff. if. 

the ground are for 
fastening the strings 
of the walls to, as ex- 
plained later. Study out 
what sort will best answer, 

and be patient in selecting the best. Long hair- 
pins might be made to answer. Make the main 
building first. Lay pebbles or some such easy 
markers, six inches apart, around the big circle, 
except in the door-spaces. A trifling increas- 
ing or lessening of the door spaces will make the 
pebbles come evenly. (See Fig. 9.) (You need 
not regard the number of dots or strings in any of 
these diagrams. They vary, and are necessarily 
less than they need be in the house. But pay 
attention to the measurements here given.) 

Now stand upon a step-ladder or chair, or, if there 
are two of you, one may be able to sit upon the 
bough itself and tie the end of the string over the 

Vol. XII.— -,;. 

11, the strings make a much firmer and much 
prettier house. If you mean to tie yours so, the 
upright strings will need to be pulled less tightly 
than if they were to be left straight. Try the tying 
upon this section (using one of the other balls of 
cord) till you learn how to do it and just how tight 
to make the upright strings. Don't begrudge 
altering this little piece of wall till you get it 
right. If you can not understand by Fig. 12 how 
to do the tying, your mother can explain it to you. 
Make the first tying seven inches above the ground, 
the next one seven inches above that, and so up. 
as near to the peak as is possible. Do not by any 
means draw vour tving-string too tightly between 




the tyings, or the sides of the doors will sag out 
and the wall itself will sag in. 

When the small section is finished, extend your 
string, which was left pinned, down to pebble w 
(Fig. 9), up again to R, then down to pebble .r. 
up again, then down to pebble z, then up, then to 
pebble k, and so on till you have made the last 
upright, tied the string, and cut it off; having 
been very careful all the time to pull it only as 
tightly as you found by your experimenting would 
be right. 

When the main building is finished, lay your 

pebble markers around the small circle, letting the 

side strings of the door e, now in place, be the 

first strings of the new room. 

ft Begin at the bough, at T, 

by tying the end of your 

-Fl£f-J'- iSsli, string between the tacks, 

as you did before at R. 

Make first the outer 

Hk half >*'> w '' £( Fi g-5)' 
ofthis room. When 

that is done, and 

he string is 

ti n a 1 1 y put 

over t h e 

bough at T, 

c a r r y 

it out 


time, and extending strings to the ground ; fork- 
ing all these strings into the two last intervals, 
at each side of the door (see dotted lines, Fig. 15). 

For the square room (Fig. 16), in placing the 
pebble markers, begin at the two back corners, xand 
z, Fig. 7, and arrange the pebbles proportionately 
in x, C, z, by altering their distances apart, if 
necessary, but not by altering the corners ; then 
place them from x and z, along the two sides, 6 
inches apart, not caring as to the distance of the 
last ones from the main building walls. 

The strings of the back wall of the square room, 
Fig. 17, all pass over the bough above at G (Fig. 
16 or iS), between the tacks. Tie your string there, 
extend it down to 11, Fig. 17, then up, then to v, 
then up, then to x, and so on. When the back 
wall is done and the string has been finally put 
over the bough, carry it along the bough 6 inches 
and tie, then down to the first pebble of one side, 
then up, then down on the other side, and so pro- 
ceed (Fig. 18 or 16), as was done in the part last 
made of the small circular room, until this square 
room is finished. 

If you wish a square room, and have no bough 
suitable for a ridge-pole, you can doubtless stretch 
a hempen cord or rope from R to some bough, or 
wall, or post, so as to answer for one. It improves 
the house greatly to break, in some such way, the 
sameness of its architecture. 

When the whole house is made, and the dia- 


the hempen cord and tie it to the cord at a point 
n, six inches from T (see Fig. 13). Then extend it 
down to the next pebble on one side, g (Fig. 14), 
fork it in, and carry it back over the hempen cord 
at the same point, //, to the corresponding pebble, 
it, on the other side ; then carry it up and tie it 
at the same point, it. If this puzzles you, have 
some one show you how to tie it so as to hold in 
place the two double strings which meet here. 
Then go six inches further out along the hempen 
cord to m, and tie; and then down — and so on 
till all the pebble places are used up. Continue 
going out along the hempen cord six inches at a 

monds tied, one stout string very tightly drawn 
should be put at the sides of each door, passing, 
crossed like the others, over the bough above, be- 
tween the tacks, and fastened very firmly in the 
ground, as close to the original side strings as pos- 
sible. Rope would be even better than string, 
especially for the front door ; or perhaps two fishing 
rods, if you do not mind the expense. To these 
new lintels tie or secure the original sides of the 
doors, in some neat way, (e. g. Fig. 19.) Finally, 
lace a string across the top of each door (as a shoe 
is laced) for a short distance (see Fig. 19), making 
the door six and a half feet high. 



-Zlt/. 7J. 

way while you are at work on the walls ; but seeds, 
if any are to be planted in the vine-beds, should, 
as I said, be planted as soon as the beds are ready, 
if it is not too early in the season. 

Plant either seeds or plants two inches apart, 
along all the long bed, near the inner edge, and 
lengthwise of each of the four small beds near the 
edges toward the main building. Or it may be 
better to plant them in two rows, four inches apart 
(see Fig. 20), so as to give more room to each one. 
In transplanting, do not expect absolute accuracy 
in the positions of the plants ; the main thing is 

JFig. '74-. 

J>7#. 75. 

I^it/. 10. 

Now, if you have some morning-glory vines 
ready, transplant them into the vine-beds. 

There are three ways in which you can raise 
your vines : 

I st — To plant them some time beforehand in a 
box in the house, for transplanting. 

2d — To plant them as early as possible out-of- 
doors for transplanting. 

3d — To plant them in their permanent places in 
the vine-beds. 

The first would be the best way for all the vines, 
if you could raise so many in the house, but you 
will need about three hundred and sixty. Raise as 
many as you can in this way. The third way would 
be next best, if your vine-beds are ready at early 
corn-planting time. The second will probably be 
your main dependence. Proceed as follows : 

Dig up a soft, rich patch of ground, and plant your 
seeds in rows (for ease in transplanting) three or 
four inches apart, the seeds being about an inch 
apart in the rows, and an inch deep in the ground. 
(You can put them closer if your patch is small, 
but do not if you can help it. ) You may find 
it best to use all three methods ; but whatever you 
do, raise a good many by the second, to supply de- 
ficiencies and accidents as the season goes on. 

Do not transplant vines into the vine-beds till the 
string-work is entirely done. They are much better 
off where they are, and would be dreadfully in your 

to put in the delicate plants safely. If one turns 
out to be five inches from the last, try to put the 
next one 3 inches from it, so as to make the right 
number of vines for the wall. A crookedness of 
line in the outer row of plants will show more than 
any other unevenness, but nothing of this sort mat- 
ters much compared with setting them out safely. 

Fig. 78. 

11, X 

If your plants for transplanting vary in size and 
promise, put the best ones at somewhat regular 
intervals. If you plant some seeds and some 
plants in the vine-bed, plant the inner row (Fig. 
20) in seeds and the outer row in plants, each at 
its proper season. Use your judgment, however, 
and try to make the vines equally thick and good 
around all parts of the walls. If you have a good 
plant, and no empty place for it, pull up a puny 




one and substitute the strong one for it. If any diamond of the string-work of the wall kept uncov- 

plants die, try to replace them. Slips of honey- crcd in training the vines would be better (see page 

suckle may also be planted if you hope to make 543). You can mark it off at first by a red thread 

in time a permanent house. wrapped around the outer string (see Fig. 21). 

f/j. ?a 

jGu?. 21. 


Fig. 20. 

In transplanting, take up the plants with as 
much earth as you can around the roots, and press 
the earth close and hard around them after they 
are planted. 

Whatever you plant, be they seeds or vines, water 
when planted 
and also late ev- 
ery afternoon, 
unless it rains, 
especially for 
the first week 
or two. If you 
have no water- 
ing-pot take a 
tin can and 
punch a num- 
ber of holes in 
the bottom of 
it with a small 
nail, and pour 
on the water 
through this 
till the plants 
grow strong 
enough to stand 
rougher treat- 
ment ; or pay 
the tinman ten 

cents for a watering-pot nozzle to fit on the spout 
of some old leaky coffee-pot. Leaking will not 
matter much, but if the holes are too large, stop 
them up with pieces of string pulled through, or 
with lumps of warm wax pressed on inside. 

Our house had elaborate plans for a window : a 
pane of glass figured with white paint ; but a large 

Our small rooms had no windows ; we wished 
them as shady as possible. 

As the vines grow, train them carefully every 
day ; tying them when twining will not answer. 
Twine them always in the same direction in which 

you find them 
growing (see 
Fig. 22). Vines 
resist being 
twined in a di- 
rection different 
from their nat- 
ural one, so 
decidedly as 
even to untwine 
themselves and 
start a f r e s h . 
Aim to twine 
them smoothly 
up the sides of 
the doors, and 
to cover the 
walls with them, 
leaving the win- 
dow uncovered 
and neatly 
shaped out in 
the midst of the 
green leaves. If one part of the wall seems to be 
getting thicker than another, train one or two of 
its vines smoothly across into the thin place, and 
sometimes even backward and forward over it, if it 
is very thin and no vines are coming up from below 
to cover it. When you first change the position 
of a vine, the leaves may look upside down and 

i8S 5 .J 



crooked, but they will come right very soon. If a 
spray or a leaf continues withered for two or three 
days, for any other cause than lack of watering, cut 
it off; it only does harm. 

You will need a great many seeds. Remember 
that there are white, purple, crimson, and pink 
morning-glories, and try to choose your colors. 
If half at least are white, the house will look 
brighter. Don't trouble yourselves to keep the 
plants of different colors separate for transplant- 
ing, but mix the seeds, in about the proportion 
you fancy. Chance patches all of one color here 
and there on the walls will do no harm. 

I have made these directions precise, knowing 
that thus your difficulties may be lessened ; but 
of course a hundred irregularities might occur, 
and many certainly will, unless you are too old 
and wise to need a play-house ; but the fun will be 
all the same, and only very sharp eyes can see the 
defects, under the vines. 

The seats in our house were logs, except a bor- 
rowed chair or two on occasions. A rustic table 

was to be our crowning ornament, but proved to be 
beyond our skill. There were also to be portieres in 
the small doors. Four yards of red calico known 
as turkey-red would make two "gorgeous" cur- 

We like, even now, to recall the delight of our 
house of string; and we enjoyed every minute of 
its building. The grown people surely should 
favor such an enterprise as this, and be willing to 
help it along and give the needed explanations 
now and then, for it is no mean summer school 
for practical mathematics and engineering, with 
many other useful lessons thrown in. 

A grave old gentleman, who was visiting the 
family, in wandering round the grounds early one 
morning, came across our completed structure, 
before the vines had grown much, standing fresh 
and white in the dew, like a great fantastic cob- 
web. He went into such raptures over the " Fairy 
Palace " that we were covered with confusion and 
blushes, while he made the whole tableful go out 
on a pilgrimage to see it. 






SlXG a song of April, sing — 
April is the Baby Spring ! — 
Crying, pouting, — see him frown ; 
See the tear-drops trickle down 
Till his little sister, May, 
Tripping up so blithe and gay, 
Shakes her daisies in his face, 
Fills with sunshine all the place, 
Tickles him with rustling grasses, 
As she, softly laughing, passes — 
Shakes him, saying, "Little brother, 
You must now your sobbing smother ; 
You must brush your tears away. 
Come and play, come and play ! 
Come and dance with sister May. 
Chase away the rainy weather; 
Come- and let us play together ! " 

This is the way matters seem to Maria J. Ham- 
mond of Baltimore, — who wrote the lines for you, 
my chicks, — and I do believe she knows. Some- 
how, the moment folks begin to feel and write 
poetry, they get behind the almanac and into the 
heart of things. 


Dear Jack : Once, when I was sent to the ice- 
house to get some ice, I saw two mules that be- 
longed to a man who also was getting ice. These 
mules were hitched to the fence near a low apple- 
tree, and the mule that was nearest the tree put 
his head through the fence and managed to get 
an apple into his mouth. But he did not eat it 
right up, as many boys and girls would, — no ! he 
held that apple in his teeth and drew his head 
back again through the fence, and then actually 
let the other mule take a bite of the fruit ! I saw 

this myself, and it was real nice to see the satisfied 
air of the generous mule as he ate the rest of his 
apple. Your little friend, Frank D. P. 


Orange, Jan. 20, 1885. 

Dear JACK : You ask in the January number 
if any one has seen a cannibal ant. I have seen a 
cannibal daisy-bug in the act of eating his com- 
panion. I took two of the tiny bugs (about the 
size of the point of a pin) that are found in great 
numbers on the common field-daisy, and put them 
under my microscope. In doing so, I accidentally 
killed one, and presently I saw the living one begin 
to eat the dead one. He seemed to suck the juices 
from the body, because the parts became trans- 
parent ; and he would shake it as a dog shakes a 

I should like to belong to the Agassiz Associa- 
tion, but there is no Chapter near me, I think. 
Your constant reader, FRED. K. W. 

Why not start a Chapter yourself. Master Fred. ? 

(A 11 offer from Deacon Green. ) 

My good friend, Mr. Dan Beard, bids me show 
you these fifteen feet, so to speak. He drew every 
one of them; and now who can name the animals 
to which they belong? One of them, the dear 
Little School-ma'am says, cannot be called a foot — 
but I hold that it belongs to an animal, all the 

And now Deacon Green sends you this message : 

He says that the boy or girl who sends him the 
best set of answers in point of correctness, neatness, 
brevity, yet naming the owners of these fifteen feet, 
hoofs, and what-not, shall have a prize ! 

The prize is to be ST. NICHOLAS sent for one 
year, with Deacon Green's compliments, either to 
that clever boy or girl or to an)- friend that clever 
he or she may name. 

Also, he will send, as second and third prizes, 
a box of Protean cards (or Box of Fifty 
Games) for the second best, and the STRATFORD 
Game of Characters and Quotations for the 
third best list. 

Don't write letters this time. Send, each, a 
neat list addressed to Silas Green, care of The 
Century Co., 33 East 17th St., New York; and 
let your list be in this fashion (though of course I 
shall not name them correctly) : 
Number 1, Horse, 
" 2, Camel. 

3, Rat, 
" 4, Elephant, 

and so on to number 15. If you can not name all 
the fifteen animals, name as many as you can. 


Many of my young folk have knocked at that 
Golden-Gate question, and more are knocking. 
Next month your Jack will open it. 

i88 5 .] 



if 7 



X « 





By Helex C. Stockton. [Aged 8.] 


Why, Pussy-cat mew. 

How do you do . J [going to ? 

And where is the place you are 
" I am going upstairs, 
To say my prayers, 

And when I get through, 

I '11 come back to you, 

To you, to you." 

Oh, Doggie, bow-wow, 
Come, tell me now, 

Where did you hide 

That bone, that bone ? 
" By the garden-gate. 
And when it is late, 

I '11 eat it alone, alone, alone ! " 

Dear Birdie pe-weet, 

With voice so sweet, 
Where did you learn 
Your song, your song ? 

Out in the green wood, 

And if you are good, 

I '11 take you along, along, along !" 

You dear little Mouse, 
Where is your house ? 

I 'm coming to see you 

Some day, some day. 
' By the closet door, 
You knew it before, 

I wish you to stay away, away ; 

1 wish you to stay away ! " 




By Emma C. Down. 

Turn the small hands palm side up, 

Lock the fingers stiff as storks ; 
And, now, what shall we call them, pet? 

Why, these are mamma's knives and forks ! 

Now turn them over, keep them tight, 
And drop the wrists, my little Mabel ; 

Ah, now we have a surface flat, 

Which surely must be papa's table ! 

Now point the two forefingers, — so ! 

And join the thumbs, my little lass; 
What shall we call this oval shape ? 

I think 't is grandma's looking:- glass 

Now point the little fingers, too, 
And let the hands rock to and Iro 

Ah, here 's a cradle all complete 
In which to put our Baby Bo ! 






Mrs. Piatt's charming poem, ''In Primrose Time," which ap- 
pears on page 497 of this number, with its sympathetic glimpses of 
early spring in Ireland, will be appreciated by all the older readers 
of St. Nicholas. It will show, moreover, that to all classes in that 
green island across the sea, as also, we hope, to St. Nicholas readers 
everywhere, the sweet yellow flower of the British Isles, that is so 
welcome a spring visitor, means much more than it did to that all 
too practical Mr. Peter Bell in Wordsworth's well-known poem : 

" A primrose by the river's brim, 

A yellow primrose was to him, 

And it was nothing more." 

Mr. J. J. Piatt sends a letter to the Editor, accompanying Mrs. 
Piatt's poem, written from Queenstown, the Irish port which all the 
Atlantic steamers first "speak" on their eastward-bound trips, and 
the town to which the verses refer: In this he says: "The leaves 
of the primrose are soft, somewhat flannel-like in texture, and of a 

pale-green color (they resemble mullen leaves in texture and color) : 
the flower is of a delicate light yellow. The primrose has always, 
I suppose, been a favorite early spring flower here. One day last 
spring it was used all over Great Britain to commemorate the anni- 
versary of Lord Beaconsfield's death. I saw many ladies and gentle- 
men wearing it on the streets in Cork upon that day, and it was 
reported that so great was the demand for the flower in London that 
many orders for supplies were sent to France and Belgium." 

Mrs. Piatt's verses, of course, have no reference to any political 
sentiment associated with the primrose, but only to the " era of good 
feeling " it seems to bring in, and the delightful new heaven and 
earth of spring. 

As announced last month, we print in this number the story — 
"Myself, or Another?" — which won the first prize in the recent 
competition for the best story- for girls written by a girl. The story 
which won the second prize will appear in our next issue. 


Green Cove Spring, Florida. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little girl nine years old. I have 
rheumatism, and have come to Florida from Nova Scotia for the 
sulphur baths. The water is quite warm, and rushes into the pool 
from a natural spring at the rate of three thousand gallons a minute. 
Green Cove is situated on the west bank of the St. John River, the 
Indian name for which is Welaka, meaning " River of Lakes." A 
few weeks ago I went up the Ocklawaha River ; the name means 
"crooked waters." The day was not very bright, and we did not see 
any alligators or snakes, but saw lots of mistletoe, holly, sweet bay 
trees in bloom, and air plants. In the evening we passed through 
the cypress gates, where the river is only twenty-three feet wide, 
just one foot wider than the boat, and the trees meeting overhead 
form an arch. We reached Silver Spring in the morning ; it is 
seventy feet deep, and you can see down to the bottom, it is so clear. 
I enjoy reading St. Nicholas very much. 

Your faithful little reader, Beatrice E. K. 

San Marcos. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have just begun to take you and 
just think you are too good for anything; my father and mother 
gave you to me for a birthday gift. We live near the San Marcos 
River; the river is a wonderful one: it is formed from springs that 
gush out of the rocks and form a river; it is a beautiful river; the 
water is very clear; you can see the fish and turtles in the water. 
We always start a rabbit when we are out walking; the woods arc 
very pretty ; they arc full o( pretty birds and mosses. I have just 
caught a pretty red bird. I am a Galveston boy ; we came up here 
on account of my father's poor health. 

Yours truly, Lloyd Coleman Y. 

Houston, Tex. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have been wanting to write to you for a 
long time, but I was afraid I could not write a nice enough letter. 
But now I thought I would not wait any longer, for I wanted to tell 
you something so much. That is, that I have every volume of St. 
Nicholas nicely bound, from the very first volume up to the present 
time. Some of them were printed before I was born, as I am only 
ten years old; but after I began taking it, some kind friends gave 
me the other books. My little sister loves you, too. I belong to 
such a nice little club, which I thought I would tell you about, 
for perhaps some of the little readers would like to hear about 
it. We call it "The History Club." Every week some girls 
and boys meet together at a lady's house, and she reads or tells us 
of some historical characters. Just now she is reading us " Tales 
of a Grandfather," by Scott. When she gets through we all have 
a good time playing. 

One who loves you dearly, Marguerite U. 

Sydney, New South Wales, January 7, 1885. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We were all very much pleased to see our 
letter in your magazine for last March, and we all thank you very 
much for the kind notice you put in about it. 

It is more than a year since we last wrote to you, and since then 
we were all obliged to leave Bourke, on account of the drought; for 
eighteen months there was no rain, and as we lived nearly five miles 
from the township, we had to cart all the water from the river 
(Darling), as our own dam had dried up. 

Father was obliged to turn out twenty valuable horses on the com- 
mon to take their chance, as they could get water at the river, 
though the grass was all withered up. We think the poor beasts 
must have died, as we never heard any more about them. There 
was a perfect plague of flies, which stung our eyes and made them 
very sore. We thought our little baby brother would have lost his 
sight altogether, as his eyes were stung by a fly which poisoned the 
lids. After suffering a great deal of pain he is quite well now. 

Perhaps you would like to hear about our journey down. We 
started on a Monday in February, Father driving us in a large buggy 
with four horses. We drove all day long, only resting for dinner. 
All the roads were covered with dead animals, horses, cattle, sheep, 
kangaroos, and once we saw a dead emeu. From time to time we 
saw flocks of thin kangaroos and emeus. Men were kept at the 
dams on purpose to remove the sheep as they died on going down 
to drink, the poor things were so weak. We saw numbers of the 
dead and dying on the margins of the dams. One man told us that 
often they had found as many as twenty sheep in the dam after one 
night, and they dragged them out of the water and burnt them. 
On many stations they chopped down trees for the poor animals to 
cat. It was very hot and dusty driving, and often we drove all day 
without seeing one house We drove till Thursday, and about noon 
reached Xyngan, where the Sydney Railway now extends. At 
half-past one we started in the train and traveled all night, and got 
to Sydney at seven o'clock on Friday morning. We were all very 
glad our journey was over. I must tell you that before we left 
Bourke our pet white cat (which we mentioned in our last letter) 
was drowned in the well. Father got him out at last, but he had 
been in the water too long before we knew of it, and was quite dead. 
We were all so sorry as we were very fond of him. 

Our kind grandmama still sends us your magazine. The heat in 
Bourke was very great — 120 in the shade, and we were all very 
glad to get away. 

Now, dear St. Nicholas, we must say good-bye, wishing you 
a happy New Year. We remain, your loving readers. 

Buttercup, Daisy, and Violet. 

We are glad to hear again from these three young friends, though 
this second letter shows that even far-off Australia is not out of the 
reach of misfortune and suffering. Many of our readers will remem- 
ber with pleasure the interesting letter which " Buttercup, Daisy, 
and Violet " sent us eighteen months ago, and which was printed 
in the Letter-Box for March, 1884. 



Chicago, 111., 1885. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am eleven years old, and 1 have taken 
you for about six years, and I don't remember ever having read such 
a funny story as '' Davy and the Goblin." Mamma, my sister, and 
myself pretty near killed ourselves laughing. Sometimes we laughed 
till we cried. 

Hoping you may live forever. 

Your little friend, Susie T. C. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I want to tell you that we have had 
orange trees in blossom ever since Christmas day, and now the 
trees are full — all of them. The perfume from the trees is sicken- 
ing. There has been ice here but twice this winter. I saw some — a 
very thin coating — early, two mornings in succession, in my duck- 
trough, that being the only water that had any ice. No one else 
has seen any here but myself. Last winter {for you know it was 
severe North) there was plenty of ice here — the edge of the river 
was frozen, and thousands of oranges were also lost by the freeze. 
This winter we have had no such cold, but it has been cool ever 
since Christmas, — not one warm Florida day a month, and very wet. 

But while you at the North are snow and ice bound, we have orange 
trees in blossom, violets, roses, jasmine (the woods are full of them, 
beautiful yellow flowers, climbing over tree and shrub), and other 
flowers continually blossoming. 

Your admiring little friend, F. C. S. 

Windsor Terrace. 
Dear St. Nicholas: We live in a little place called Windsor 
Terrace, between Prospect Park and Greenwood Cemetery. 

We went skating this afternoon, and had a splendid time. We 
have not far to go, only a block, then through a hole in the fence. 
There is a seat on the lake where we sit to put on our skates. We 
are each eleven years old. We shall look for our letter in the next 
St. Nicholas. Your constant readers, 

" Rose and Violet.'" 

London, 29 Walworth Road, Jan., 18S5. 
Dear Old St. Nicholas: I am a little girl ten years old, and 
my home is near New York, I left America last May, and crossed 
the big ocean alone to meet my Papa in Liverpool. There was 
another little girl in the saloon cabin, and we had nice times to- 
gether. She went to Paris and I went to London. 1 am going 
home in May. 1 have been to St. Paul's, seen the Tower of Lon- 
don, Madam Tussaud's Wax-works, and we went to Westminster 
Abbey. I have been in London six months, and never missed get- 
ting St. Nicholas. I would like all the little boys and girls to see 
all the pretty sights I have seen — the Lord Mayor's show, and the 
Prince and Princess of Wales and their daughters, and the pleasant 
days I have spent in the Zoological Gardens. I hope you will print 
this letter, for I shall look for it when my brother sends St. Nicholas 
to me from New York. I hope St. Nicholas will last till I am a 
grown-up woman, for I love it so much. 

Your little friend, Clara V. J. F. 

Si'ffern, N. Y., March, 1885. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I cannot let this month pass without writ- 
ing to you. I like your stories very much and I am trying to learn 
to read as quickly as I can, so as to be able to read the stories to 
myself. I am sorry the snow is going, as we cannot have any more 
sleighing. Your loving reader, 

M. V. S. 

Baltimore, Md. 
Dear St. Nicholas: We have been taking you as long as I can 
remember. I believe Mamm? took it before I was born; and ever 
since I could read you, I have been devoted to you. Some friends 
and I have a club in which we read aloud Dickens' works, and we 
meet every Saturday. We have no badge, but we call ourselves, 
" The Dickens Club." I have been reading Dickens all this winter; 
also two of Sir Walter Scott's novels. From yours truly, 

L." D. D. 

New Haven, Conn. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Our folks have been amusing themselves 
this winter by a funny little game ; and we think that perhaps some 
of your other readers might enjoy it too, if they knew it. Each player 
draws a little picture representing a certain subject and then passes 
his picture to the next player without letting him or her know what 
the subject was that he meant to represent. The player receiving 
the picture writes below it his idea of its meaning, then he folds over 
the edge to cover what he has written, and passes it to the next 
player, who does the same, and soon, until the paper containing the 
drawing and the titles written beneath it returns to the player who 
made the drawing. Then the artist reads first the real title or sub- 

ject of his drawing, and then the titles which the other players 
have given it. We send you a few of the drawings made by our 
home folks, which will explain the game to you better than we can. 
Good-bye, dear St. Nicholas, from your loving friends, 

Gcssie, Bennie and "Skvl." 

[Subject which the artist really intended to illustrate: The discovery 
of gunpowder : ] 

The title which Uncle John gave to the picture : " Celebration in 

honor of the boat-race." 
Mamma's title: " Frightful explosion of gas." 
Big brother Jack's title : " The effect of Gussie's piano playing." 

[Subject which the artist really intended to illustrate: Whittmgtou 
and his cut.} 

The title which Papa gave to the picture : " French cook trying to 

carry out the first direction in the receipt for making jugged hare ; 

— ' First catch your hare,' the bare, at the moment of portrayal, 

having obviously scored a point." 
Uncle John's title: "The Land League defying the British Lion." 
Mamma's title: "Wonderful discovery of a new member of the cat 

family. " 

[Subject which the artist really intended to illustrate : The Assyrian 
came down like a wolf on the /old.} 

The title which Mamma gave to the picture : " A scene on the Nile. 

A native watching a crocodile trap from the banks of the river." 
Big brother Jack's title: "Pharaoh, having occasion to cross the 

Nile, makes a short detour to avoid crocodiles." 
Uncle John's title : " Egyptian keeper going to the Nile to teed his 

pet crocodile, and baby hippopotami." 

New-York City, January, 1SS5. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little boy, seven years old. I have 
a robin, whom we caught a year ago last spring. He was very 
young, and had fallen out of a tree. We had to feed him on bread 
and milk with a stick, and he has traveled with us to different 
places. He plays marbles and tag with me, and scolds me it I rub 
my ringers on his cage. Yesterday I took all the perches out of 
his cage to wash them, and he scolded so and made such a noise 




that I had to put them back. He has a very fine voice, and sings a 
great deal. Last spring he got out of his cage, and flew way down 
the street, but he came back to us, and then again in the summer he 
got away and returned. 

I have a canary, a kitten, and a mocking-bird, but I like my robin 
best. His name is Rob Roy. By and by I will write you another 
letter. I am your little friend, J. Leggett P. 

Junction City, Kan. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Ogden's monument is the center of the 
United States, just above Fort Riley, and I live within three miles 
of it, at Junction City. Fort Riley is a six-company post, but it 
only has three companies of colored soldiers now. It is arranged 
very nicely. Some nights when we look over the reservation, the 
grass is on fire and looks very pretty. In the summer we drive over 
to the forL and see the dress-parade and hear the band play. I like 
the story about Kansas, in the January number, very much. One 
of my uncles lives within three miles of Fort Harker. I have seen 
the sunflowers so high and thick that you cannot see through, nor 
over them. Junction City is a pretty large town of about 3500 
people. We have a nice opera house, which is lighted with gas and 
warmed with a furnace. We all had a merry Christmas and a 
happy New Year and hope you had the same. 

Yours, truly, Bertha R. 

San Francisco, 1885. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have read your interesting pages again 
and again, and as I am going to get another bound volume of you 
this year, I thought I would like to tell you about a little pet I have. 
I am eleven years old, and live in San Francisco. 1 have been in 
the country for over six months, and am afraid I shall fall behind in 
my studies when I go to school after the holidays, but I am going to 
try to keep up. I have a pretty little Italian hound, named Gyp, 
a little bigger than a large cat. I am very fond of him, and he re- 
turns my affection, following me wherever I go, if I will allow him. 
One Sunday he followed me to church (the little country church not 
far from our hotel), and just as the clergyman was going to give out 
the text for the sermon, I saw the little black form of my pet march- 
ing up the aisle. You can imagine how mortified I was when he 
deliberately walked up in the chancel and stood beside the preacher, 
looking all over the church. Suddenly he espied Mamma and my- 
self, and instantly rushed down to us. Oh! I wished the floor 
would open and let me down under it when I was obliged to take 
the culprit down, with a hundred eyes upon me. I took him home, 
and then came back to the church; and though Gypie tried many 
times after to follow me to church, he was always successfully 
stopped before he reached the church door. Perhaps this seems an 
almost incredible story, but "naughty little Gypie" is sitting now 
in the yard, and his little mistress is really writing you this letter, 
and we will both thank you very much if you will publish this in 
your " Letter-box." Your devoted little reader, Grace. 

Madison, Miss. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I live far out in the country, and our 
nearest neighbor lives a quarter of a mile away. 1 live on a large 
Southern plantation. Our house is called Annandale, and is very 
large; it has galleries all around it, both up stairs and down. 

I wonder what some of your readers will say when I tell you that 
we gathered from our flower garden a beautiful bouquet of roses on 
the 17th of December, and among them were some lovely Marshal 
Niel buds. 

My brother and I have taken St. Nicholas ever since the first 
number was published. I was a tiny girl then, too small to enjoy 
it, but since 1 have grown larger I have read all the back numbers. 
We have them all bound. I have a good many pets, one of which 
is a little colt named " Rob Roy," who is very gentle, and when 
1 hold the baby on his back he will trot all around the yard. 

We live seven miles from the post-office, and of course my brother 
and I are always very anxious to read the St. Nicholas as soon as 
it comes ; little Maimie is also very fond of having the pictures 
shown to her. 

Hoping that I have not tired the readers with this letter, 

I am ever your devoted reader, Helen J. Harris. 

We must heartily thank the young friends whose names appear 
in the following list, fortheir kind letters, which we have not room to 
print : Lizzie D. L., Lula Brown, Susie and Beckie Cadwallader, A. 
P. Thomson, Fannie Mason, Grace Gaffney, Frances Bartow, M. L. 
Nolan, Margaret McNamara, Madel Burnett, Maud M. M., Laurie, 
Claudine Bishop, Venice James, Jenny R. K., Beatrice M., Arthur 
N. Starin, E. and J., Gertie C. R., Lucy Warren, Arthur L. Sam- 
uels, Eva Brandy, Melville F., Mary P. B., A. W. R., A. B. Linch, 
Rlanche Owen, Bel M. P., Angelica G., May F. T., Harold Smith, 
Eddie Billheimer, Nina and May, J. N. D., Margaret 1M., Altie and 
Neva Foster, Charlie Hodel, Walter S. H., Fannie Shumway, Alice 
Threy, L., X. Y. Z., " Three Girls of Sunny Kansas," Alex. Doug- 
las, Mabel Connor, Mabel Claire, Jessie C. Russell, Nellie M. H., 
Sallie N. Cleghorn, Carl G., Bessie B. R., George A. Acken, God- 
frey Pretz, K. A. W. , Bettic Moremen, Annie Louise Denison, Ella 
Maude F., Mamie and Renate Ruehrmund, Edith L. Fawcett, Lily 
Wells, Bessie and Nellie, Daisy Poey. 


"Papa," said a little three-year-old a few days since, "let baby 
smell the yellow daffodil. Now let him listen to it with his ear." 

'"Does the daffodil say anything to you, darling?" the father 

" Yes, Papa, it says ' The Spring is coming .' 

And now, not the yellow daffodil alone, but the coltsfoot shining in 
its sunny corner by the brook, the arbutus peeping from the edge 
of each lichen-covered rock, the furry-stemmed hepaticus, and the 
glorious company of apple-blossoms, all are singing to us, "The 
Spring has come." 

Each year we listen more eagerly for the first song of the blue- 
bird, and we even share the woodman's pleasure in noting the first 
comfortable voyage of the noisy crow, as he floats through the hazy 
air croaking in hoarse good nature his early prophecy of spring. 

Now all the Agassiz Association is out-of-doors. Field-meetings 
and excursions are the order of the month, and on April 28, when 
the birthday of Louis Agassiz shall come again, nearly every 
Chapter will observe that Tuesday in the wood or by the shore. 

For our Chemists. 

ance of the gentlemen whose addresses were given last month will 
doubtless be sought not only by those who are exclusively devoted 
to Chemistry, but also by those who feel the need of some chemical 
knowledge to aid them in their work with minerals and plants. We 
are glad, therefore, to add to the list then given the name of another 
friend, who writes as follows : 

Pine Knoll, March 2, 1885. 
H. H. Ballard : 

My Dear Sir: I have been watching the work of the Agassiz 
Association with a great deal nf interest. In the Forty-sixth report, 
I see that a chemist is asked for. Although chemistry is not my 
special study, I will gladly render any assistance needed to those 
who arc studying that branch. I am pleased to see there is an in- 
terest manifested in that science, and will endeavor to answer all 
puzzling questions, and also give advice as to the best methods of 
studying its mysteries to those who will send their letters to me, with 
stamps for reply. I will also exchange specimens of birds, rocks, 
shells, plants, etc., etc., from this section of Massachusetts for curi- 
osities from other parts of the country, and give any other aid I 
can to those who are making a study of Natural History. 

Yours truly, Andrew Nichols, Jr. 

P. O. Address: Asylum Station, Essex Co.j Mass. 

The successful study of Botany and Mineralogy requires some 
familiarity with the elements and their compounds, and is greatly 
facilitated by an acquaintance with Chemistry, so that the assist- 

In looking over the files of St. Nicholas, we notice, what from 
the nature of the case has been unavoidable, that there are still very 
many Chapters reports of which have never been quoted in the Maga- 


55 7 

zine. We have kept a careful record of these, and shall give each 
its turn as rapidly as possible, always preferring, however, such re- 
ports as are clearly written, well expressed, interesting, suggestive, 
and si tort. 

Retorts from Chapters. 

668, Brooklyn (I), has been troubled by two unruly members, and 
asks what to do about it. Probably most Chapters have had more 
or less trouble at times from this source. It is generally the result 
of thoughtlessness rather than of perversity, and if the troubled will 
have large patience, and if the troublers will stop to think what serious 
injury they are doing to their Chapter by their inattention, most of 
the annoyance will cease. In case there should be any member who 
refuses to conform to the rules, after kind expostulation, his name 
may be sent to us by the Secretary of the Chapter, or he may be ex- 
pelled at once. Four earnest members make a better Chapter than 
six, two of whom are not interested workers. This is a painful sub- 
ject, and we trust we shall not be compelled to revert to it. 

765, Detroit (G). The principal of our school is coming to our 
next meeting, and we hope to get the teachers interested. — William 
Warner Bishop, Sec. 

(The shoe is usu.illy supposed to be on the other foot .' ) 

618, Central Village, Conn. We cleared $30 from a loan exhibi- 
tion. With the money we bought seven or eight books, a poly- 
opticon, and a small cabinet. While taking a tramp, we discovered 
silver indications and garnets. — J. E. Shelden, Sec. 

336, Auburn, N. V. (B), has made a scrap-box. "We made a 
box so large that twelve cigar boxes fitted in it nicely. We then 
printed labels, and set apart each box for a different study. We 
have a room of our own, to which mail may be addressed — 13 Au- 
relius Avenue." — Elmer Kelland, Sec. 

670, Wright s Grove, III. (B). Last December the drawing- 
teacher of the Lakcview High School joined us, and since then we 
have progressed splendidly. Eor each meeting one writes a sketch 
of the life of some eminent scientist, while the rest gather notes on 
his life, and other scientific subjects. — Myron H. M. Hunt, Sec. 

355> N. Adams (A ). We are feeling very much encouraged. 
Since our last report we have obtained twenty-four new members. 
Two have left, so we arc thirty-one. Encouraging, is it not? It 
takes too much time for each member to answer questions, as wc 
have been doing this winter, so wc have gone back to the old way of 
having a few questions and a few essays. We expect to do good 
work this spring. Four of the new members are teachers. The rest 
are nearly all from the first year class in the High School, so that we 
can have a large society when our class is graduated next June. — 
M. Louise Radio, Sec. 

453, Oswego, A*. V. (A ). Our Chapter has increased from five 
members to twelve. Our meetings are very interesting. Our most 
interesting question was "To which kingdom does chalk belong?" 
No. 1 said that chalk, being composed of the shells of animals, 
belonged to the animal kingdom. No. 2 said that chalk was com- 
posed of the shells, and not of the animals, and shells being com- 
posed of lime made it belong to the mineral kingdom. No. 1 then 
said that as shells were composed of lime, and lime was formed of the 
decomposed parts of animals, shells and chalk belonged to the animal 
kingdom. Well, sir, here I saw they were drifting too deeply into 
science, and I advised that the question be carried over, which it 
was, and if you can help us out of it you will do us a great favor, as 
we have never been able to decide the matter satisfactorily. At one 
of our meetings a lilac twig was shown covered with pyramidal 
eggs. These grew into little gray caterpillars, of course very minute, 
as the shape of the egg could only be seen by the use of the micro- 
scope. — W. A. Burr, Sec. 

[It is customary in the game of twenty questions to 'regard as 
belonging to the animal kingdom all animal products, such as 
silk, ivory, bone, coral, etc., so long as they retain their natural 
structure. If 'bones are burned, the boJic-ash is considered mineral. 

The disintegration of the animal structure of limestone is so 
complete that ive unhesitatingly place it among minerals. In 
coral, tlie structure is so well preserved that we should call it ani- 
mal. Chalk is between the two, but had better be classed as min- 
eral. The exact truth is, that it is a mineral substance tluit has 
been shaped by animal life, and aftenoard partially disintegrated. 

The same principle will help you decide whether coal is vegetable 
or mineral. What shall we say of honey f\ 

387, Baltimore (£). We feel quite encouraged by the result of 
the past month. The members take more interest and enter on their 
various duties with more zeal than ever. — Edward McDowell, Sec. 

From Japan. 

Dear Mr. Ballard: My object in writing you, is to try to form 
a Chapter of the A. A. among the dozen or fifteen boys and girls of 
the American professors in the Anglo-Japanese school in this city. 
There is nothing I so much regret in my early education as I do the 
lack of any incentive or training in using my eyes; and feeling 
this lack, I mean to try to save as many boys and girls as I can 
from a similar failure. Now, will it be possible for us to be recog- 
nized ? I will add that the St. Nicholas is taken by several of the 
families here. With the best of wishes, — C. M. Cady. 

549, Linlithgow, Scotland. This Chapter since its formation has 
done good work. Our papers and the reports of our excursions are 
bound up in a volume. Correspondence is invited. — Wm. War- 
drop, Gowan Cottage. 

7T3, Old Chatham, N. V. We now number 25, and are taking a 
course in Botany. Will some one name this bird ? — Length, 7 inches ; 
wing, 4 inches ; bill, V 2 inch; tarsus, 1 inch; back and upper part 
of head, ashy blue, flecked with dirty brown and gray ; wing feathers, 
grayish black, with upper edge reddish brown; under part of tail, 
ashy gray; sides of neck and breast, white, flecked with brown; 
bill sharp and coniccl. — R. W. Morey, Sec. 

Not for Children Only. 

[To illustrate the hiterest taken in our Society by " children of a 
larger growth," and one of the fields of usefulness opening to us, 
we give entire the following letter, one of many of similar tenor, 
withholding only the writer's «.?;;«.] 

Dear Sir: I am glad to be able to tell you that I have, with 
several others, met this afternoon to form a Chapter of the Agassiz 
Association. And I hope it will succeed. I have for ten years had 
a kindergarten and school here, and some of my earliest pupils are 
now big boys and girls, 12 and 14 years old, and I do not wish their 
love and interest to drift away from me as they pass on to other 
schools. I have been wondering how I could hold them together, and 
keep up intercourse with them that would have an interest beyond 
the mere feeling of old affection and childish association. And when 
I saw your hand-book advertised in the Nation, a couple of months 
ago, I sent to you for a copy, and saw it was the very thing I needed, 
if I could carry it out. At first I shrank from the amount of work it 
implied (for I am not very strong, and have a very heavy load on my 
shoulders already, my mother being a great invalid, and thereby 
giving me all the housekeeping cares, besides carrying on my school). 
I showed the book to one of my boys, and he seized upon the idea 
with such delight I could not find it in myheart to hesitate any 
longer. So we have been talking about it to others, and interesting 
them, and finally this afternoon some of- us met and formed our 
Chapter. I had the nucleus of a collection of curiosities in a box of 
'rubbish" which had been given to me at various times, and we 
have already had some very nice and attractive curiosities given to 
us. I have always been particularly fond of botany, and every 
spring I have the children who are old enough read Gray's How 
Plants Grow, and How Plants Behave, for reading books, and we 
analyze flowers afterward. And through the summer botany is my 
chief delight. I attend most of the free Saturday exhibitions of the 
Horticultural Society in Boston, and last season I studied ferns, and 
collected a great many of the common northern varieties. I think, 
from my own strong leaning in that direction, and the equally strong 
interest of another member who intends to join us, that botany will 
be one of our leading interests. In addition to the boys and girls 
from S to 14 years old, we will have several grown-up members, who 
have expressed a strong interest and a desire to join us. We do not 
wish to form a large Chapter at first, and yet it is hard to limit it. 
We would rather admit younger members very gradually, and as 
they are fitted lo do real work. I can do a great deal of preparatory 
work in school, — object lessons, etc., with the younger ones, — and 
the kindergarten is an excellent training for such an after interest. 
Very sincerely yours, 

272, Westtown, X. Y. Our collection of insects at the annual 
county fair. — W. Evans, Sec. 

720, Boston (F) ; 333, San prancisco (F); 564, Santa Rosa 
(A); 6S4, Gilbertsville, A". 1". ; 603. Chicago (V) ; 711, Glens 
Falls, N. 1 '. v 730, Council Bluffs, Iowa ; 753, Springfield, Mass. ; 
439, Wilmington, Del. ; 354, Litchfield, Conn. ; 762, Baltimore 
(J) ; 21, Nashua (A) ; 203, Framingham, Mass. ; 610, Racine, 
Wis. (B) ; 483, Albuquerque, A'. M. ; 527, San Francisco (G) ; 
491, Rochester, lud. ; 738, Alt. Gilead, Ohio ; 575, Spencer, Mass. ; 
and 68o, Peoria, Illinois (E), all send excellent and encouraging 
reports of progress. They are all, however, so nearly alike that it 
would be monotonous to reproduce them side by side. Here is 
one which in the main represents them all. 

" Progressing splendidly. Have added two new members. Have 
bought a microscope, and added several new books to our library. 
We enjoy the reports in the St. Nicholas very much. Enthusiasm 
increasing. Have procured a room in which to hold our meetings. 
We have a fair collection, and it is increasing." 

We must make a little parenthesis 
interesting letter from Kioto, Japan: 

in our regular reports for this 

[ We hope this uniformity of successful endeavor and kii 
feeling of interest will remain unbroken. ] 






Zanguebar gum, for amber. — M. S. Howland, 904 King Street, 
Wilmington, Del. 

Compact limestone, for other labeled minerals or birds' eggs. 
Correspondence desired. — Ward M. Sackett, Sec. Ch. 741, Mead- 
ville, Pa. 

Dendrite, epidote, red and purple porphyry, also sea curiosities, 
z. >■., sea-urchin, starfish, etc. Write first. — E. G. Harlow, 32^ 
Neptune Street, Lynn, Mass. 

Birds' eggs (side-hole), for same. — P. E. Kennedy, 125 Fourth 
Ave., Cleveland, Ohio. 

Minerals, fossils, etc., for woods. Send list of woods, and stamp 
for samples of wood showing shape. I want specimens. — L. L. 
Lewis, Copenhagen, N. Y. 

The address of Ch. 136 is now W. H. Righter, Columbia, Pa. 

Minerals, mosses, lichens, and cones, for eggs, birds, minerals, 
and books on taxidermy and geology. — Ray S. Baker, St. Croix 
Falls, Wis. 

Book on silk-worm raising, for two eggs of scarlet tanager. Write 
first. — R. S. Cross, Purvis, Miss. 

New Chapters. 
No. Name. No. 0/ Members. A ddress. 

786 Tompkinsville, S. L,N.Y.(A). 4. .Graham Shaw. 

787 Elizabeth, N. J. (A) 4. .Roy Hopping. 



No. of Members. A ddress. 

788 Lenox, Ohio (A) 

789 Kioto, Japan (A) 

790 Kings Mountain, N. C. (A). 

791 St. Louis, Mo. (F) 


Pueblo, Col. (A) 

Ashland, Ohio (A) 

Flemington, N. J. (A) . 

Delhi, N. Y. (A) 

Huntsville, Tex. (A) . . . 

Bedford, Ind. (A) 

Cedar Falls, Iowa (A) 

. . 1 1 . . Delia M osher, Box 2. 
. .12. -C. M. Cady. 
.. 5..W. T. R. Bell, Jr. 
. . 6. ,C. E. Adams, 

2804 Gamble St. 
.. 6.. Miss Marion Mertz. 
. . 7.. J. D. Stubbs, Jr. 
.. 4..H. E. Deato, Box 55. 
. . 8 .Wallace P. Hull. 
. . 17. .Miss Jennie Estill. 
. . 6. James D. Rawlins. 
. . 6 G. H. Cobb, Box 123. 


97 St. Croix Falls, Wis 6 . . Ray S. Baker, 

164 Jackson, Mich 9. .Fred L. Ball. 

Address all communications for this department to the President 
of the A. A., Mr. Haklan H. Ballard, 

Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass. 



In what poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes do the lines occur from 
which the following pi is made ? 

Hewn weak het litsovc, trinew side ; 

Hewn stropu het mel-sudb, grispn si erna ; 
Hewn silica sobmsol, rummes scrie, 

"Dub, lcltti ersso ' ripsgn si heer ! 

A young woman. 3. Indentations. 4. Without the sense of hear- 
ing. 5. A glossy fabric. 6. To double over. 7. A fierce animal. 
8. A useless plant. 9. A biped. 10. Useful insects. 




1. In porringer. 2. A capsule <>f a plant, 
allotment. 5. To condescend. 6. To put on. 


3. Cut off. 4. An 
7. In porringer. 
Edith Leavitt. 

From i to 5, a father; from 2 to 6, precise; from 3 to 7, to merit; 
from 4 to 8, advanced; from 5 to 9, a confederate; from 6 to 10, the 
Christian name of Charles Lamb's sister; from 7 to n, an abode; 
from 3 to 12, always; from 1 to 9, popishly ; from 2 to 10, original; 
from 3 to it, zealous; from 4 to 12, eternally. 

The letters represented by the figures from 5 to 8 may be trans- 
posed to form words meaning an appellation, a word signifying "so 
be it," ignoble, and part of a horse. dvcie. 

From 3 to 4, a memorable time in a certain city ; from i to 2, the 
most important person in that city. 

Cross-words: i. A governor i>f Algiers. 2. Close at hand. 3 
To assist. 4. A pool or collection of water. 5. Self (a term used 
in metaphysics). 6. Benefit. 7. One who creates. 8. Deception. 
9. Called for a repetition of. 10. From end to end. it. Winter 
vehicles. 12. Eats greedily. 13. A rich fabric. 14. A city 01 
Greece. 15. A prominent European nation. 


I am composed of seventy-four letters, and am part of a poem by 
"H. H." 

My 29-0.-41-67-35 is an animal of the deer kind. My 4-66-33-48 
is to withhold assent to. My 38-19-30-40-3 is to annoy. My 7-15 
-56-22-42 is important. My 34-11-5-23 is part of the feet of cer- 
tain animals. My 21-52-8-57 is the flesh of certain animals. My 
72-6-12-24-62-73-58-49 is a fabulous monster; my 59-37-51-74-25- 
60-65-27-30 is what he dwelt in. My 55-50-32-1-63 is part of a 
rake. 1^43-54-45-28 was the wife of Jupiter. My 61-71-16-18- 
36 is to bend. My 14-69-26-31 is a period of time. My 20-46-53 is 
a large body of water. My 10-44-47-13 is smoke. My 68-70-64- 
17-2 is to balance. " Cornelia Blimber." 



Each of the words described contains four letters. The zigzag, 
beginning in the upper left-hand corner, will name what Longfellow 
says " fill Lhe air with a strange and wonderful sweetness." 

Cross-words: 1. The Christian name of an unfortunate queen. 2. 

From i to 3, a portion of even ground ; from 2 to 3, an uproar; 
from 1 to 2, a fruit ; from 4 to 5, to dissolve ; from 6 to 5, a ditch ; 
from 4 to 6, to cripple. " cedipus." 




Arrange the names of the ten objects pictured above, in such a 
way that they will form a double diamond, which is a diamond that 
forms new words when read across and up and down. 


The syncopated and beheaded letters will name a famous warrior 
and orator of ancient times. 

i. Behead an infraction of law, and leav^ hoarfrost. 2. Syncopate 
a European country, and leave to draw out into threads. 3. Synco- 

pate a grain, and leave that which. 4. Behead a country of Europe, 
and leave to torment. 5. Syncopate vapor, and leave a stalk. 6. 
Syncopate a fruit, and leave to gaze. 


My first is in spoke but not in hub; 
My second in pail but not in tub ; 
My third is in can but not in will; 
My fourth is in slope but not in hill; 
My fifth is in cry but not in call ; 
My whole is a flower beloved by all. 


Each of the words described contains four letters. When rightly 
guessed, the initials will spell a landed estate, and the finals a resi- 
dence. The diagonals, from the upper left-hand corner to the lower 
right-hand corner, spell a mass of floating ice ; the diagonals, from 
the lower left-hand corner to the upper right-hand corner, will spell 
a common lepidopterous insect. 

Cross-wokds : 1. A kind of food. 2. The part between tenor 
and soprano. 3. Space. 4. Produced. 

" Johnny Duck." 



A fen. 2. A variety of quartz. 3. A fast horse. 4. A 
horse. 5. Numbers of animals. 

II. 1. To efface. 2, A black bird. 3. To turn aside. 4, To 
wait on. 5. To record. paul reese. 


Across; i. A state carriage. 2. To draw out. 3. A fermented 
beverage. 4. In creature 

Downwards: i. In creature. 2. A pronoun. 3. A girl's name. 
4. Regulation. 5. To frost. 6. A diphthong. 7. In creature. 



Shakespearean Numerical Enigma. 

When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim, 
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything. 

Sonnet XCVIII. 
Monument Puzzle. Central letters. Israel Putnam. Cross- 
words : I. 2. aSp. 3. uRn. 4. pAw. 5. tEn. 6. aLe. 7. aPe. 

8. cUb. 9. aTe. 10. faNcy. 11. clAms. 12. raiMent. 
Half-square. i. Compatriot. 2. Overreach (Sir Giles). 3. 

Meconate. 4. Procure. 5. Arnuts. 6. Tears. 7. Rate. 8. Ice. 

9. Oh. 10. T. 

Inverted Pyramid. Across : 1. Parasitic. 2. Tirades. 3. 
Paled. 4. Baa. 5. M. 

Diamond, i. T. 2. Feb. 3. Fumed. 4. Tempted. 5. Betty. 
6. Dey. 7. D. 

Anagrammatical Spelling-lesson. i. Eleemosynary. 2. 
Alleviate. 3. Debilitated. 4. Participation. 5. Scintillation. 

Hour-glass. Central letters, Bonaparte. Cross-words: 1. 
blubBered. 2. canOnic. 3. liNen. 4. tAr. 5, P. 6. mAn. 7. 
paRty. S. canTeen. 9. markEting. 

Cube. From 1 to 2, fooled ; 2 to 6. drives; 5 to t, eludes; 1 to 5, 
ferule; 3 to 4, enrobe; 4 to 8, eroded; 7 to 8, tended; 310 7, es- 
cort; 1 to 3, fee ; 2 to 4, dye ; 6 to 8, sad ; 5 to 7, eat. 

Double Acrostic. Primals, Shakspeare; finals, Wordsworth. 
Cross-words: 1. ShoW. 2. HalO. 3. AveR. 4. KinD. 5. SeaS. 
6. ProW. 7. EbrO. 8. AfaR. 9. RafT. 10. EacH. 

Illustrated Numerical Enigma. The used key is always 

bright. Charade. Car-pet. 

Pi. For weeks the clouds had raked the hills, 

And vexed the vale with raining; 
And all the woods were sad with mist, 
And all the brooks complaining. 

"A mong the Hills." 

The names of those who send solutions are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be 
addressed to St. Nicholas "Riddle-box," care of The Century Co.. 33 East Seventeenth street, New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the March Number were received before March 20, from " The Carters " — S. R. T. — Arthur 
Gride — " Hill Top " — " Clifford and Coco "— " Pepper and Maria" — " P- K. Boo " — " Tiny Puss, Mitz, and Muff" — '* Pernie " — Harry 
M. Wheelock — Mamie Hitchcock — Helen J. Sproat — Maggie and May Turrill — Dycie — " R. E. Gents" — Trebor Treblig — Clara 
and Mamma — Francis W. Islip. 

Answers to Puzzles in the March Number were received, before March 20, from M. S. Keeler, 2 — Jennie Short, 6 — James 
McDonald, 1 — Susie Hubbel, 2 — Juliet Breck, 3 — J. and A. Logan, 1 — Alice R. Douglass, 1 — Mary A. Tilden, 9 — Lucy M. Brad- 
ley, 9 — Herbert L. Chapin, 3 — R. O. Haubold, 1 — Emily A. Whiston, 2 — Willie E. Dow, 4 — Percy A. Varian, 6 — John, Kate, and 
James, 1 — Sadie and Bessie Rhodes, 9 — A. D. Baker, 1 — Peggy and Polly, 8 — "Chickee," 2 — Haliie Couch, S — Jcsie Lanahan, 2 — 
Lottie Tuttle, 9 — " We, Us, and Co.," 2 — Edward C. Hall, 1 — Lawrence Yeiller, 1 — Florence and May, 6 — Ada M., 6 — W. S. Sy- 
mington, Jr., 1 — Lou H., 5 — Charlie Parsons, 1 — Paul Reese, 9 — Robt. M. Jones, 1 — " Goose," 1 — Godfrey Pretz, 1 — D. C, 2 — 
John Morton, 1 — Jennie F. Balch, 6 — Annie Lehow, 1 — Judith, 10 — " Tweed ledee," 5 — " Lynx," 1 — Genie and Meg, 3 — M. Emrr.e- 
line Stearns, 1 — Anna Calkins, 2 — Genevra, 1 — Effie K. Talboys, 9 — Daisy Dunham, 2 — Madcap Fane, 1 — Reggie and Nellie, S — 
E. L. Hunnewell, 7 — "Tweedledum," 3 — Grace and Alice Galway, 5 — Fanny, May, and D., s — " Betsey Bobbett, " 3— "Pike Bustow," 
1 — John V. Arrighi, 1 — Lulu Weir, 4 — Bayard Sweeney, 1 — Lillie Parmenter, 7 — E. Muriel Grundy, 10 — Jessie B. Mackce\er. 6 — 
George Habenicht, 2 — Willie C. Serrell and friends, 9 — Fred and Will Kraus, 1 — "Chimpanzee," 4' — Lulu M. Race, 9 — Laura Gor- 
don, 3 — " Puz," 10 — Edytha M. D., 8 — " Geranium and Rosebud," 5 — Gertrude and Josie, ^ — " <TMipus," 10 — "Arthur Pendennis," 
6 — "We Girls," 7— H. B. Saunders, 2 — Fannie and Sophy. 1 — "Locust Dale Folks," 5 — Willie Sheraton. 4 — "Pinkie," 7 — 
" Schneider and Snickelfritz," 4 — Mertice and Ina, 6 — " Shumway Hen and Chickens," 10 — Jennie Dupuis and Edith Young, S — 
Herbert Gayles, 7 — Arthur L. Mudge, 1 — Chauncey G. Wellington, t — Arthur C. Anderson, S — Eleanor, Maude, and Louise Peart, 
6 — Geo. C. Beebe and John C. Winne, 4 — Appleton H., S — B. Y., of Omaha, 9— Emily Danzel, 1 — May Fisher, 1 — Woodbury G. 

Frost, 2 — Georgia and Grace, 9. 

5 6o 





ft H]ay Seem very foo[isl^. 

—.Hut /' tliis. 1 do <kc 

I a t e -sg 


Our artist, who goes out sketching every Saturday, has succeeded in hiring "a bright, active boy " to come for an hour, 

on that day, to clean the Studio. 

"For a moment she stood motionless, gazing on the scene before her." (Page 563.) 



Vol. XII. 

JUNE, 1885. 

No. 8. 

[Copyright, 1S85, by The CENTURY CO.J 

A MOUNTAIN brook ran through a little village. 
Over the brook there was a narrow bridge, and 
from the bridge a foot-path led out from the village 
and up the hill-side, to the cottage of Old Pipes 
and his mother. For many, many years, Old Pipes 
had been employed by the villagers to pipe the 
cattle down from the hills. Every afternoon, an 
hour before sunset, he would sit on a rock in front 
of his cottage and play on his pipes. Then all the 
flocks and herds that were grazing on the mount- 
ains would hear him, wherever they might happen 
to be, and would come down to the village — the cows 
by the easiest paths, the sheep by those not quite 
so easy, and the goats by the steep and rocky ways 
that were hardest of all. 

But now, for a year or more, Old Pipes had not 
piped the cattle home. It is true that every after- 
noon he sat upon the rock and played upon his 
good instrument ; but the cattle did not hear him. 
He had grown old, and his breath was feeble. The 
echoes of his cheerful notes, which used to come 
from the rocky hill on the other side of the valley, 
were heard no more ; and twenty yards from Old 
Pipes one could scarcely tell what tune he was 
playing. He had become somewhat deaf, and did 
not know that the sound of his pipes was so thin 
Vol. XII. — 36. 

and weak, and that the cattle did not hear him. 
The cows, the sheep, and the goats came down 
every afternoon as before, but this was because two 
boys and a girl were sent up after them. The 
villagers did not wish the good old man to know 
that his piping was no longer of any use, so they 
paid him his little salary every month, and said 
nothing about the two boys and a girl. 

Old Pipes's mother was, of course, a great deal 
older than he was, and was as deaf as a gate, — 
posts, latch, hinges, and all, — and she never knew 
that the sound of her son's pipe did not spread over 
all the mountain-side, and echo back strong and 
clear from the opposite hills. She was very fond 
of Old Pipes, and proud of his piping; and as he 
was so much younger than she was, she never 
thought of him as being very old. She cooked for 
him, and made his bed, and mended his clothes ; 
and they lived very comfortably on his little salary. 

One afternoon, at the end of the month, as 
soon as Old Pipes had finished his piping, he took 
his stout staff and went down the hill to the village 
to receive the money for his month's work. The 
path seemed a great deal steeper and more diffi- 
cult than it used to be ; and for some time Old 
Pipes had been thinking that it must have been 




washed by the rain and greatly damaged. He 
remembered it as a path that was quite easy 
to traverse either up or down. But Old Pipes had 
been a very active man, and as his mother was so 
much older than he was, he never thought of him- 
self as aged and infirm. 

When the Chief Villager had paid him, and lie 
had talked a little with some of his friends, Old 
Pipes started to go home. But when he had 
crossed the bridge over the brook, and gone a 
short distance up the hill-side, he became very 
tired, and had to sit down upon a stone. He had 
not been sitting there half a minute, when along 
came two boys and a girl. 

"Children," said Old Pipes, "I 'm very tired 
to-night, and I don't believe I can climb up this 
steep path to my home. I think I shall have to 
ask you to help me." 

" We will do that," said the boys and the girl, 
quite cheerfully ; and one boy took him by the 
right hand, and the other by the left, while the 
girl pushed him in the back. In this way he went 
up the hill quite easily, and soon reached his 
cottage door. Old Pipes gave each of the three 
children a copper coin, and then they sat down for 
a few minutes' rest before starting back to the 

" 1 'm sorry that I tired you so much," said Old 

" Oh, that would not have tired us," said one of 
the boys, " if we had not been so far to-day after 
the cows, the sheep, and the goats. They rambled 
high up on the mountain, and we never before 
had such a time in finding them." 

" Had to go after the cows, the sheep, and the 
goats ! " exclaimed Old Pipes. " What do you 
mean by that ? " 

The girl, who stood behind the old man, shook 
her head, put her hand on her mouth, and made 
all sorts of signs to the boy to stop talking on this 
subject ; but he did not notice her, and promptly 
answered Old Pipes. 

"Why, you see, good sir," said he, "that as 
the cattle can't hear your pipes now. somebody 
has to go after them every evening to drive them 
down from the mountain, and the Chief Villager 
has hired us three to do it. Generally it is not 
very hard work, but to-night the cattle had wan- 
dered far." 

" How long have you been doing this ? " asked 
the old man. 

The girl shook her head and clapped her hand 
on her mouth more vigorously than before, but 
the boy went on. 

" I think it is about a year now," he said, " since 
the people first felt sure that the cattle could not 
hear your pipes ; and since then we 've been driv- 

ing them down. But we are rested now, and will 
go home. Good-night, sir." 

The three children then went down the hill, the 
girl scolding the boy all the way home. Old Pipes 
stood silent a few moments, and then he went into 
his cottage. 

" Mother," he shouted ; " did you hear what 
those children said ? " 

" Children ! " exclaimed the old woman ; " I 
did not hear them. I did not know there were 
any children here." 

Then Old Pipes told his mother, shouting very 
loudly to make her hear, how the two boys and 
the girl had helped him up the hill, and what he 
had heard about his piping and the cattle. 

"They can't hear you?" cried his mother. 
" Why, what 's the matter with the cattle ? " 

" Ah, me ! " said Old Pipes ; " I don't believe 
there 's anything the matter with the cattle. It 
must be with me and my pipes that there is some- 
thing the matter. But one thing is certain, if I do 
not earn the wages the Chief Villager pays me, I 
shall not take them. I shall go straight down to 
the village and give back the money I received 

" Nonsense ! " cried his mother. "I 'm sure 
you 've piped as well as you could, and no more 
can be expected. And what are we to do with- 
out the money ? " 

"I don't know," said Old Pipes; "but I 'm 
going down to the village to pay it back." 

The sun had now set ; but the moon was shining 
very brightly on the hill-side, and Old Pipes could 
see his way very well. He did not take the same 
path by which he had gone before, but followed 
another, which led among the trees upon the hill- 
side, and, though longer, was not so steep. 

Before he had gone half-way, the old man be- 
came very tired, and sat down to rest, leaning 
his back against a great sycamore-tree. As he did 
so, he heard a sound like knocking inside the 
tree, and then a voice distinctly said : 

" Let me out ! let me out ! " 

Old Pipes instantly forgot that he was tired, and 
sprang to his feet. "This must be a Dryad- 
tree ! " he exclaimed. " If it is, I '11 let her out." 

Old Pipes had never, to his knowledge, seen a 
Dryad-tree, but he knew there were such trees on the 
hill-sides and the mountains, and that Dryads lived 
in them. He knew, too, that in the summer-time, 
on those days when the moon rose before the sun 
went down, a Dryad could come out of her tree if 
any one could find the key which locked her in, 
and turn it. Old Pipes closely examined the trunk 
of the tree, which stood in the full moonlight. 
" If I can see that key," he said, " I shall surely 
turn it." Before long he perceived ' of bark 



standing out from the tree, which appeared to 
him very much like the handle of a key. He took 
hold of it, and found he could turn it quite around. 
As he did so, a large part of the side of the tree 
was pushed open, and a beautiful Dryad stepped 
quickly out. 

For a moment she stood motionless, gazing on 
the scene before her, — the tranquil valley, the 
hills, the forest, and the mountain-side, all lying 
in the soft clear light of the moon. " Oh, lovely! 
lovely ! " she exclaimed. " How long it is since 
I have seen anything like this ! " And then, turn- 
ing to Old Pipes, she said : " How good of you to 
let me out ! I am so happy and so thankful, that 
I must kiss you, you dear old man ! " And she 
threw her arms around the neck of Old Pipes, and 
kissed him on both cheeks. " You don't know," 
she then went on to say, " how doleful it is to be 
shut up so long in a tree. I don't mind it in the 
winter, for then I am glad to be sheltered, but in 
summer it is dreadful not to be able to see all the 
beauties of the world. And it 's ever so long since 
I Ve been let out. People so seldom come this 
way ; and when they do come at the right time 
they either don't hear me, or they are fright- 
ened, and run away. But you, you dear old man, 
you were not frightened, and you looked and 
looked for the key, and you let me out, and now I 
shall not have to go back till winter has come, and 
the air grows cold. Oh, it is glorious ! What can 
I do for you, to show you how grateful I am ? " 

"I am very glad," said Old Pipes, "that I let 
you out, since I see that it makes you so happy ; 
but I must admit that I tried to find the key be- 
cause I had a great desire to see a Dryad. But if 
you wish to do something for me, you can, if you 
happen to be going down toward the village." 

" To the village ! " exclaimed the Dryad. 
" Why, I will go anywhere for you, my kind old 

"Well, then," said Old Pipes, "I wish you 
would take this little bag of money to the Chief 
Villager and tell him that Old Pipes can not re- 
ceive pay for services which he does not perform. 
It is now more than a year that I have not been able 
to make the cattle hear me, when I piped to call 
them home. I did not know this until to-night ; 
but now that I know it, I can not keep the money, 
and so I send it back." And, handing the little 
bag to the Dryad, he bade her good-night, and 
turned toward his cottage. 

" Good-night," said the Dryad. " And I thank 
you over, and over, and over again, you good old 
man ! " 

Old Pipes walked toward his home, very glad to 
be saved the fatigue of going all the way down to 
the village and back again. " To be sure," he 

said to himself, "this path does not seem at all 
steep, and I can walk along it very easily ; but it 
would have tired me dreadfully to come up all the 
way from the village, especially as I could not have 
expected those children to help me again." When 
he reached home, his mother was surprised to see 
him returning so soon. 

"What!" she exclaimed; "have you already 
come back? What did the Chief Villager say? 
Did he take the money? " 

Old Pipes was just about to tell her that he had 
sent the money to the village by a Dryad, when he 
suddenly reflected that his mother would be sure 
to disapprove such a proceeding, and so he merely 
said he had sent it by a person whom he had met. 

"And how do you know that the person will 
ever take it to the Chief Villager ? " cried his 
mother. " You will lose it, and the villagers will 
never get it. Oh, Pipes ! Pipes ! when will you 
be old enough to have ordinary common sense?" 

Old Pipes considered that as he was already 
seventy years of age he could scarcely expect 
to grow any wiser, but he made no remark on this 
subject; and, saying that he doubted not that the 
money would go safely to its destination, he sat 
down to his supper. His mother scolded him 
roundly, but he did not mind it ; and after sup- 
per he went out and sat on a rustic chair in front 
of the cottage to look at the moonlit village, and 
to wonder whether or not the Chief Villager really 
received the money. While he was doing these 
two things, he went fast asleep. 

When Old Pipes left the Dryad, she did not 
go down to the village with the little bag of 
money. She held it in her hand, and thought 
about what she had heard. "This is a good 
and honest old man," she said; "and it is a 
shame that he should lose this money. He looked 
as if he needed it, and I don't believe the people 
in the village will take it from one who has served 
them so long. Often, when in my tree, have I 
heard the sweet notes of his pipes. I am 
going to take the money back to him." She did 
not start immediately, because there were so many 
beautiful things to look at ; but after a while she 
went up to the cottage, and, finding Old Pipes 
asleep in his chair, she slipped the little bag into 
his coat-pocket, and silently sped away. 

The next day, Old Pipes told his mother that he 
would go up the mountain and cut some wood. 
He had a right to get w-ood from the mountain, 
but for a long time he had been content to pick up 
the dead branches which lay about his cottage. 
To-day, however, he felt so strong and vigorous 
that he thought he would go and cut some fuel 
that would be better than this. He worked all the 
morning, and when he came back he did not feel 




at all tired, and he had a very good appetite for his 

Now, Old Pipes knew a good deal about Dryads, 
but there was one thing which, although he had 
heard, he had forgotten. This was, that a kiss 
from a Dryad made a person ten years younger. 
The people thereabouts knew this, and they were 
very careful not to let any child of ten years, or 
younger, go into the woods where the Dryads were 
supposed to be ; for, if they should chance to be 
kissed by one of these tree-nyraphs, they would be 
set back so far that they would cease to exist. A 
story was told in the village that a very bad boy 
of eleven once ran away into the woods, and had 
an adventure of this kind ; and when his mother 
found him he was a little baby of one year old. 
Taking advantage of her opportunity, she brought 
him up more carefully than she had done before ; 
and he grew to be a very good boy indeed. 

Now, Old Pipes had been kissed twice by the 
Dryad, once on each cheek, and he therefore felt as 
vigorous and active as when he was a hale man of 
fifty. His mother noticed how much work he 
was doing, and told him that he need n't try in 
that way to make up for the loss of his piping 
wages ; for he would only tire himself out, and get 
sick. But her son answered that he had not felt so 
well for years, and that he was quite able to work. 

In the course of the afternoon, Old Pipes, for the 
first time that day, put his hand in his coat-pocket, 
and there, to his amazement, he found the little 
bag of money. "Well, well !" he exclaimed, ''I 
am stupid, indeed ! I really thought that I had 
seen a Dryad ; but when I sat down by that big 
sycamore-tree I must have gone to sleep and 
dreamed it all ; and then I came home thinking I 
had given the money to a Dryad, when it was in my 
pocket all the time. But the Chief Villager shall 
have the money. I shall not take it to him to-day, 
but to-morrow I wish to go to the village to see 
some of my old friends ; and then I shall give up 
the money." 

Toward the close of the afternoon. Old Pipes, as 
had been his custom for so many years, took his 
pipes from the shelf on which they lay, and went 
out to the rock in front of the cottage. 

" What are you going to do? " cried his mother. 
"If you will not consent to be paid, why do you 
pipe ? " 

" I am going to pipe for my own pleasure," said 
her son. " I am used to it. and I do not wish to 
give it up. It does not matter now whether the 
cattle hear me or not, and I am sure that my pip- 
ing will injure no one." 

When the good man began to play upon his 
favorite instrument he was astonished at the sound 
that came from it. The beautiful notes of the 

pipes sounded clear and strong down into the val- 
ley, and spread over the hills, and up the sides of 
the mountain beyond, while, after a little interval, 
an echo came back from the rocky hill on the 
other side of the valley. 

" Ha ! ha ! " he cried, " what has happened to 
my pipes ? They must have been stopped up of 
late, but now they are as clear and good as ever." 

Again the merry notes went sounding far and 
wide. The cattle on the mountain heard them, 
and those that were old enough remembered how 
these notes had called them from their pastures 
every evening, and so they started down the 
mountain-side, the others following. 

The merry notes were heard in the village be- 
low, and the people were much astonished thereby. 
"Why, who can be blowing the pipes of Old 
Pipes ? " they said. But, as they all were very 
busy, no one went up to see. One thing, how- 
ever, was plain enough: the cattle were coming 
down the mountain. And so the two boys and the 
girl did not have to go after them, and had an 
hour for play, for which they were very glad. 

The next morning Old Pipes started down to the 
village with his money, and on the way he met 
the Dryad. " Oh, ho ! " he cried, " is that you ? 
Why, I thought my letting you out of the tree was 
nothing but a dream." 

"A dream!" cried the Dryad; "if you only 
knew how happy you have made me, you would 
not think it merely a dream. And has it not 
benefited you ? Do you not feel happier ? Yes- 
terday I heard you playing beautifully on your 

" Yes, yes," cried he. " I did not understand 
it before, but I see it all now. I have really grown 
younger, I thank you, I thank you, good Dryad, 
from the bottom of my heart. It was the finding 
of the money in my pocket that made me think it 
was a dream." 

" Oh, 1 put it in when you were asleep," she 
said, laughing, " because I thought you ought to 
keep it. Good-bye, kind, honest man. May you 
live long, and be as happy as I am now." 

Old Pipes was greatly delighted when he under- 
stood that he was really a younger man ; but that 
made no difference about the money, and he kept 
on his way to the village. As soon as he reached 
it, he was eagerly questioned as to who had been 
playing his pipes the evening before, and when the 
people heard that it was himself, they were very 
much surprised. Thereupon, Old Pipes told what 
had happened to him, and then there was greater 
wonder, with hearty congratulations and hand- 
shakes ; for Old Pipes was liked by every one. 
The Chief Villager refused to take his money, and, 
although Old Pipes said that he had not earned it, 



every one present insisted that, as he would now 
play on his pipes as before, he should lose nothing, 
because, for a time, he was unable to perform his 

So Old Pipes was obliged to keep his money, 
and after an hour or two spent in conversation 
with his friends, he returned to his cottage. 

There was one individual, however, who was not 
at all pleased with what had happened to Old 
Pipes. This was an Echo-dwarf, who lived on the 
hills on the other side of the valley, and whose 
duty it was to echo back the notes of the pipes 
whenever they could be heard. There were a great 
many other Echo-dwarfs on these hills, some of 
whom echoed back the songs of maidens, some 
the shouts of children, and others the music that 
was often heard in the village. But there was only 
one who could send back the strong notes of the 
pipes of Old Pipes, and this had been his only 
duty for many years. But when the old man grew 
feeble, and the notes of his pipes could not be 
heard on the opposite hills, this Echo-dwarf had 
nothing to do, and he spent his time in delightful 
idleness ; and he slept so much and grew so fat 
that it made his companions laugh to see him 

On the afternoon on which, after so long an in- 
terval, the sound of the pipes was heard on the 
echo hills, this dwarf was fast asleep behind a 
rock. As soon as the first notes reached them, 
some of his companions ran to wake him. Rolling 
to his feet, he echoed back the merry tune of Old 
Pipes. Naturally, he was very much annoyed 
and indignant at being thus obliged to give up his 
life of comfortable leisure, and he hoped very much 
that this pipe-playing would not occur again. The 
next afternoon he was awake and listening, and, 
sure enough, at the usual hour, along came the 
notes of the pipes as clear and strong as they 
ever had been ; and he was obliged to work as 
long as Old Pipes played. The Echo-dwarf was 
very angry. He had supposed, of course, that 
the pipe-playing had ceased forever, and he felt 
that he had a right to be indignant at being thus 
deceived. He was so much disturbed that he 
made up his mind to go and try to find out whether 
this was to be a temporary matter or not. He had 
plenty of time, as the pipes were played but once a 
day, and he set off early in the morning for the 
hill on which Old Pipes lived. It was hard work 
for the fat little fellow, and when he had crossed 
the valley and had gone some distance into the 
woods on the hill-side, he sat down to rest, and, in 
a few minutes, the Dryad came tripping along. 

"Ho, ho!" exclaimed the dwarf; "what are 
you doing here ? and how did you get out of your 
tree ? " 

"Doing!" cried the Dryad; "I am being 
happy ; that 's what I am doing. And I was let 
out of my tree by the good old man who plays the 
pipes to call the cattle down from the mountain. 
And it makes me happier to think that I have been 
of service to him. I gave him two kisses of grati- 
tude, and now lie is young enough to play his 
pipes as well as ever." 

The Echo-dwarf arose to his feet, his face pale 
with passion. " Am I to believe," he said, " that 
you are the cause of this great evil that has come 
upon me ? and that you are the wicked creature 
who has again started this old man upon his career 
of pipe-playing ? What have I ever done to you 
that you should have condemned me for years and 
years to echo back the notes of those wretched 
pipes ? " 

At this the Dryad laughed loudly. 

'" What a funny little fellow you are ! " she said. 
" Any one would think you had been condemned 
to toil from morning till night; while what you 
really have to do is merely to imitate for half an 
hour every day the merry notes of Old Pipes's 
piping. Fie upon you, Echo-dwarf! You are 
lazy and selfish ; and that is what is the matter 
with you. Instead of grumbling at being obliged 
to do a little wholesome work, which is less, I am 
sure, than that of any other echo-dwarf upon the 
rocky hill-side, you should rejoice at the good for- 
tune of the old man who has regained so much of 
his strength and vigor. Go home and learn to be 
just and generous; and then, perhaps, you may 
be happy. Good-bye." 

" Insolent creature ! " shouted the dwarf, as he 
shook his fat little fist at her. "I '11 make you 
suffer for this. You shall find out what it is to 
heap injury and insult upon one like me, and to 
snatch from him the repose that he has earned 
by long years of toil." And, shaking his head 
savagely, he hurried back to the rocky hill-side. 

Every afternoon the merry notes of the pipes of 
Old Pipessoundeddown into the valley and over the 
hills andup the mountain-side ; andevery afternoon 
when he had echoed them back, the little dwarf 
grew more and more angry with the Dryad. 
Each day, from early morning till it was time for 
him to go back to his duties upon the rocky hill- 
side, he searched the woods for her. He intended, 
if he met her. to pretend to be very sorry for 
what he had said, and he thought he might be 
able to play a trick upon her which would avenge 
him well. One day, while thus wandering among 
the trees, he met Old Pipes. The Echo-dwarf did 
not generally care to see or speak to ordinary 
people ; but now he was so anxious to find the 
object of his search, that he stopped and asked 
Old Pipes if he had seen the Dryad. The piper 

5 66 



had not noticed the little fellow, and he looked 
down on him with some surprise. 

"No," he said; "I have not seen her, and I 
have been looking everywhere for her." 

" You ! " cried the dwarf, " what do you wish 
with her? " 

Old Pipes then sat down on a stone, so that he 
should be nearer the ear of his small companion, 
and he told what the Dryad had done for him. 

When the Echo-dwarf heard that this was the 
man whose pipes he was obliged to echo back 
every day, he would have slain him on the spot had 
he been able ; but, as he was not able, he merely 
ground his teeth and listened to the rest of the 

" I am looking for the Dryad now," Old Pipes 
continued, " on account of my aged mother. 
When I was old myself, I did not notice how very 
old my mother was ; but now it shocks me to see 
how feeble and decrepit her years have caused her 
to become ; and I am looking for the Dryad to ask 
her to make my mother younger, as she made me. " 

The eyes of the Echo-dwarf glistened. Here was 
a man who might help him in his plans. 

" Your idea is a good one," he said to Old Pipes, 
" and it does you honor. But you should know 
that a Dryad can make no person younger but one 
who lets her out of her tree. However, you can 
manage the affair very easily. All you need do 
is to find the Dryad, tell her what you want, and 
request her to step into her tree and be shut up for 
a short time. Then you will go and bring your 
mother to the tree ; she will open it, and every- 
thing will be as you wish. Is not this a good plan ? " 

" Excellent ! " cried Old Pipes ; " and I will go 
instantly and search more diligently for the 

" Take me with you," said the Echo-dwarf. 
" You can easily carry me on your strong shoul- 
ders ; and I shall be glad to help you in any way 
that I can." 

"Now, then," said the little fellow to himself, 
as Old Pipes carried him rapidly along, " if he 
persuades the Dryad to get into a tree, — and she 
is quite foolish enough to do it, — and then goes 
away to bring his mother, I shall take a stone or a 
club and I will break off the key of that tree, so 
that nobody can ever turn it again. Then Mis- 
tress Dryad will see what she has brought upon 
herself by her behavior to me." 

Before long they came to the great sycamore- 
tree in which the Dryad had lived, and, at a dis- 
tance, they saw that beautiful creature herself com- 
ing toward them. 

"How excellently well everything" happens!" 
said the dwarf. " Put me down, and I will go. 
Your business with the Dryad is more important 

than mine ; and you need not say anything about 
my having suggested your plan to you. I am will- 
ing that you should have all the credit of it 

Old Pipes put the Echo-dwarf upon the ground, 
but the little rogue did not go away. He concealed 
himself between some low, mossy rocks, and he 
was so much of their color that you would not 
have noticed him if you had been looking straight 
at him. 

When the Dryad came up, Old Pipes lost no 
time in telling her about his mother, and what he 
wished her to do. At first, the Dryad answered 
nothing, but stood looking very sadly at Old Pipes. 

" Do you really wish me to go into my tree 
again ? " she said. " I should dreadfully dislike to 
do it, for I don't know what might happen. It is 
not at all necessary, for I could make your mother 
younger at any time if she would give me the 
opportunity. I had already thought of making 
you still happier in this way, and several times I 
have waited about your cottage, hoping to meet 
your aged mother, but she never comes outside, 
and you know a Dryad can not enter a house. I 
can not imagine what put this idea into your head. 
Did you think of it yourself ? " 

" No, I can not say that I did," answered Old 
Pipes. " A little dwarf whom I met in the woods 
proposed it to me." 

" Oh i " cried the Dryad ; " now I see through 
it all. It is the scheme of that vile Echo-dwarf — 
your enemy and mine. Where is he ? I should 
like to see him." 

" I think he has gone," said Old Pipes. 

" No, he has not," said the Dryad, whose quick 
eyes perceived the Echo-dwarf among the rocks. 
"There he is. Seize him and drag him out, I 
beg of you." 

Old Pipes perceived the dwarf as soon as he was 
pointed out to him, and, running to the rocks, he 
caught the little fellow by the arm and pulled him 

" Now, then," cried the Dryad, who had opened 
the door of the great sycamore, "just stick him in 
there, and we will shut him up. Then I shall be 
safe from his mischief for the rest of the time I am 

Old Pipes thrust the Echo-dwarf into the tree ; 
the Dryad pushed the door shut ; there was a 
clicking sound of bark and wood, and no one 
would have noticed that the big sycamore had 
ever had an opening in it. 

"There," said the Dryad; " now we need not 
be afraid of him. And I assure you, my good 
piper, that I shall be very glad to make your 
mother younger as soon as I can. Will you not 
ask her to come out and meet me ? " 



"Of course I will," cried Old Pipes; "and 1 
will do it without delay." 

And then, the Dryad by his side, he hurried to 
his cottage. Hut when he mentioned the matter 
to his mother, the old woman became very angry 
indeed. She did not believe in Dryads ; and, if 
they really did exist, she knew they must be 
witches and sorceresses, and she would have noth- 
ing to do with them. If her son had ever allowed 
himself to be kissed by one of them, he ought to 
be ashamed of himself. As to its doing him the 
least bit of good, she did not believe a word of it. 
He felt better than he used to feel, but that was 
very common. She had sometimes felt that way 
herself, and she forbade him ever to mention a 
Dryad to her again. 

That afternoon, Old Pipes, feeling very sad that 
his plan in regard to his mother had failed, sat 
down upon the rock and played upon his pipes. 
The pleasant sounds went down the valley and 
up the hills and mountain, but, to the great sur- 
prise of some persons who happened to notice the 
fact, the notes were not echoed back from the 
rocky hill-side, but from the woods on the side of 
the valley on which Old Pipes lived. The next 
day many of the villagers stopped in their work to 
listen to the echo of the pipes coming from the 
woods. The sound was not as clear and strong as 
it used to be when it was sent back from the rocky 
hill-side, but it certainly came from among the 
trees. Such a thing as an echo changing its place 
in this way had never been heard of before, and 
nobody was able to explain how it could have 
happened. Old Pipes, however, knew very well 
that the sound came from the Echo-dwarf shut up 
in the great sycamore. The sides of the tree were 
thin, and the sound of the pipes could be heard 
through them, and the dwarf was obliged by the 
laws of his being to echo back those notes when- 
ever they came to him. But Old Pipes thought 
he might get the Dryad in trouble if he let any- 
one know that the Echo-dwarf was shut up in the 
tree, and so he wisely said nothing about it. 

One day the two boys and the girl who had 
helped Old Pipes up the hill were playing in the 
woods. Stopping near the great sycamore-tree, 
they heard a sound of knocking within it, and then 
a voice plainly said : 

" Let me out ! let me out ! " 

For a moment the children stood still in aston- 
ishment, and then one of the boys exclaimed : 

"Oh, it is a Dryad, like the one Old Pipes found ! 
Let 's let her out ! " 

"What are you thinking of?" cried the girl. 
" I am the oldest of all, and I am only thirteen. 
Do you wish to be turned into crawling babies? 
Run ! run ! run ! " 

And the two boys and the girl dashed down into 
the valley as fast as their legs could carry them. 
There was no desire in their youthful hearts to be 
made younger than they were. And for fear that 
their parents might think it well that they should 
commence their careers anew, they never said a 
word about finding the Dryad-tree. 

As the summer days went on, Old Pipes's mother 
grew feebler and feebler. One day when her son 
was away, for he now frequently went into the 
woods to hunt or fish, or down into the valley to 
work, she arose from her knitting to prepare the 
simple dinner. But she felt so weak and tired that 
she was not able to do the work to which she had 
been so long accustomed. "Alas! alas!" she 
said, "the time has come when 1 am too old to 
work. My son will have to hire some one to come 
here and cook his meals, make his bed, and mend 
his clothes. Alas ! alas ! I had hoped that as long 
as I lived I should be able to do these things. But 
it is not so. I have grown utterly worthless, and 
some one else must prepare the dinner for my son. 
I wonder where he is." And tottering to the 
door, she went outside to look for him. She did 
not feel able to stand, and reaching the rustic 
chair, she sank into it, quite exhausted, and soon 
fell asleep. 

The Dryad, who had often come to the cottage 
to see if she could find an opportunity of carrying 
out Old Pipes's affectionate design, now happened 
by ; and seeing that the much-desired occasion 
had come, she stepped up quietly behind the old 
woman and gently kissed her on each cheek, and 
then as quietly disappeared. 

In a few minutes the mother of Old Pipes awoke, 
and looking up at the sun, she exclaimed : " Why, 
it is almost dinner-time ! My son will be here 
directly, and I am not ready for him." And rising 
to her feet, she hurried into the house, made the 
fire, set the meat and vegetables to cook, laid the 
cloth, and by the time her son arrived the meal was 
on the table. 

" How a little sleep does refresh one," she said 
to herself, as she was bustling about. She was a 
woman of very vigorous constitution, and at sev- 
enty-five had been a great deal stronger and more 
active than her son was at that age. The moment 
Old Pipes saw his mother, he knew that the Dryad 
had been there ; but, while he felt as happv as a 
king, he was too wise to say anything about her. 

" It is astonishing how well I feel to-day," said 
his mother ; " and either my hearing has improved 
or you speak much more plainly than you have 
done of late." 

The summer days went on and passed away, the 
leaves were falling from the trees, and the air was 
becoming cold. 




"Nature has ceased to be lovely," said the 
Dryad, " and the night winds chill me. It is 
time for me to go back into my comfortable quar- 
ters in the great sycamore. But first I must pay 
another visit to the cottage of Old Pipes." 

She found the piper and his mother sitting side 
by side on the rock in front of the door. The 
cattle were not to go to the mountain any more 
that season, and he was piping them down for the 
last time. Loud and merrily sounded the pipes 
of Old Pipes, and down the mountain-side came 
the cattle, the cows by the easiest paths, the sheep 
by those not quite so easy, and the goats by the 
most difficult ones among the rocks ; while from 
the great sycamore-tree were heard the echoes of 
the cheerful music. 

" How happy they look, sitting there together," 
said the Dryad; "and I don't believe it will do 
them a bit of harm to be still younger." And 
moving quietly up behind them, she first kissed 
Old Pipes on his cheek and then his mother. 

Old Pipes, who had stopped playing, knew what 
it was, but he did not move, and said nothing. 
His mother, thinking that her son had kissed her, 
turned to him with a smile and kissed him in 
return. And then she arose and went into the 
cottage, a vigorous woman of sixty, followed by 
her son, erect and happy, and twenty years 
younger than herself. 

The Dryad sped away to the woods, shrugging 
her shoulders as she felt the cool evening wind. 

When she reached the great sycamore, she turned 
the key and opened the door. " Come out," she 
said to the Echo-dwarf, who sat blinking within. 
" Winter is coming on, and I want the comfortable 
shelter of my tree for myself. The cattle have 
come down from the mountain for the last time 
this year, the pipes will no longer sound, and you 
can go to your rocks and have a holiday until next 

Upon hearing these words the dwarf skipped 
quickly out, and the Dryad entered the tree and 
pulled the door shut after her. "Now, then," 
she said to herself, " he can break off the key if 
he likes. It does not matter to me. Another will 
grow out next spring. And although the good 
piper made me no promise, I know that when the 
warm days arrive next year, he will come and let 
me out again." 

The Echo-dwarf did not stop to break the key 
of the tree. He was too happy to be released to 
think of anything else, and he hastened as fast as 
he could to his home on the rocky hill-side. 

The Dryad was not mistaken when she trusted 
in the piper. When the warm days came again 
he went to the sycamore-tree to let her out. But, 
to his sorrow and surprise, he found the great tree 
lying upon the ground. A winter storm had blown it 
down, and it lay with its trunk shattered and split. 
And what became of the Dryad, no one ever 

By Alice Boise Wood. 

YONDER sleep the lilies white 
Through the starlit summer night : 
Fitful breezes rise and fall ; 
Fire-flies flash, and wild birds call. 

On the sea the white ships go, 
Noiseless, winged, to and fro : 
To and fro, and o'er and o'er, 
Fancies float from shore to shore. 

Here the river winds along, 
Deep and silent, swift and strong : 
Mighty river — toward the sea 
Float my fancies forth with thee ! 

Happy fancies they, to know 
Stars that shine and winds that blow, 
Ships that sail, and seas that lie 
Silent 'neath a silent sky. 



By e. p. Roe. 

Chapter V. 

It amused and interested me to see upon the 
children's faces such looks of eager expectancy 
as they impatiently devoured the midday meal. 
Nothing greater than a bonfire was in prospect, 

and trample it down a little. It is too loose now. 
While we do this, Winnie and Bobsey can gather 
dry grass and weeds that will take fire quickly. 
Now, which way is the wind ? " 

" There is n't any wind, Papa," Merton replied. 

" Let us see. Put your forefingers in your 

— — — — 


yet few costly pleasures could have afforded them 
more excitement. Winnie and Bobsey wished me 
to light the lire at once, but I said : 

" No, not till Mamma and Mousie are ready to 
come out. You must stay and help them clear 
away the things. When all is ready, you two shall 
start the blaze." 

Very soon we all were at the brush-pile, which 
towered above our heads, and I said : 

" Merton, it will burn better if we climb over it 

mouths, all of you. then hold them up and note 
which side feels the coolest." 

"This side! " cried first one and then another. 

"Yes; and this side is toward the west : there- 
fore, Winnie, put the dry grass here on the west- 
ern side of the heap, and what air is stirring will 
carry the blaze through the pile." 

Little hands that trembled with eagerness soon 
held lighted matches to the dry grass : there was 
a yellow flicker in the sunshine, then a blaze, a 




crackle, a devouring rush toward the center of the 
pile of flames that mounted higher and higher 
until, with the surrounding column of smoke, there 
was a conflagration which, at night, would have 
alarmed the country-side. The children at first 
gazed with awe upon the scene as they backed far- 
ther away from the increasing heat. Our beacon- 
fire drew Junior, who came bounding over the 
fences toward us ; and soon he and Merton began 
to try how near they could dash in toward the 
blaze without being scorched. I soon stopped this. 

" Show your courage, Merton, when there is need 
of it," I said. " Rash venturing is not bravery, 
but foolishness, and often costs people dear." 

When the pile sank down into glowing embers, 
I turned to Bobsey, and added : 

" I have let you light a fire under my direction. 
Never think of doing anything of the kind without 
my permission ; for if you do, you will certainly sit 
in a chair, facing the wall, all day long, with nothing 
to cheer you but bread and water and a sound whip- 
ping. There is one thing which you children must 
learn from the start, and that is, you are not to play 
with fire except when I permit you." 

At this direful threat Bobsey looked as grave as 
his round little face permitted, and, with the 
memory of his peril in the creek fresh in mind, 
was ready enough with the most solemn promises. 
A circle of unburned brush was left around the 
embers. This I raked in on the hot coals, and 
soon all was consumed, and eventually the ashes 
were spread far and wide. 

Early the next morning, Mr. Jones arrived with 
his stout team, and, going twice in every furrow, 
he sunk his plow to the beam. We followed our 
neighbor for a few turns around the garden ; then 
I went for a half-bushel of early potatoes, and Mr. 
Jones showed me how to cut them so as to leave at 
least two good "eyes" to each piece. I also varied 
my labor with lessons in plowing, for running in my 
head was an " old saw " to the effect that " He who 
would thrive must both hold the plow and drive." 

The fine weather lasted long enough for us to 
plant our early potatoes in the most approved 
fashion, and then came a series of cold, wet days 
and frosty nights. Mr. Jones assured us that the 
vegetable seeds already in the ground would re- 
ceive no harm. At such times as we could work 
we finished trimming and tying up the hardy rasp- 
berries, cleaning up the barn-yard, and carting all 
the fertilizers we could find to the land that we 
meant to cultivate. 

One long, stormy day, I prepared an account- 
book. On its left-hand pages I entered the cost 
of the place and all expenses thus far incurred. 
The right-hand pages were for records of income, 
as yet small indeed. They consisted only of the 

proceeds from the sale of the calf, the eggs that 
Winnie gathered, and the milk measured each 
day, all valued at the market price. I was re- 
solved that there should be no blind drifting toward 
the breakers of failure — that at the end of the year 
we should know whether we had made progress, 
had stood still, or had gone backward. My system 
of keeping the accounts was so simple that I easily 
explained it to my wife, Merton, and Mousie ; for I 
believed that, if they followed the effort at country 
living understandingly, they would be more will- 
ing to practice the self-denial necessary for success. 
Indeed, I had Merton write out most of the items. 

My wife and Mousie also started another book 
of household expenses, and I assured them that, 
if we only kept up these records, we should always 
know just what our prospects were ; that weeks 
would elapse before our place would be food-pro- 
ducing to any great extent ; and that in the mean- 
time we must draw chiefly on our capital in order 
to live. 

But Winifred and I resolved to meet this ne- 
cessity in no careless way, feeling that not a penny 
should be spent which might be saved. The fact 
that I had only my family to support was greatly 
in our favor. There was no kitchen cabinet that 
ate much and wasted more, to satisfy. Therefore, 
our revenue of eggs and milk went a great way 
toward meeting the problem. We made out a list 
of cheap, yet wholesome, articles of food, and 
found that we could buy oatmeal at four cents per 
pound, Indian meal at two and a half cents, rice 
at eight cents, samp at four, mackerel at nine, 
pork at twelve, and ham at fifteen cents. The last 
two articles were used sparingly, and more as 
relishes and for flavoring than as food. Flour 
happened to be cheap at the time, the best costing 
but seven dollars a barrel ; of vegetables, we had 
secured abundance at slight cost ; and the apples 
still added the wholesome element of fruit. A 
butcher drove his wagon to our door three times a 
week and, for cash, would give us, at very reason- 
able rates, certain cuts of beef and mutton. These 
my wife conjured into appetizing dishes and de- 
licious soups. Such details may appear to some 
very homely, yet our health and success depended 
largely upon careful and thoughtful attention to 
just such prosaic matters. The children were 
growing plump and ruddy at an expense less than 
that which would be incurred by one or two visits 
from a physician in the city. 

In the matter of food, I gave more thought to 
my wife's time and strength than to the little peo- 
ple's wishes. We had variety and abundance, but 
we did not have many dishes at any one meal. 

The wash-tub I forbade utterly, and the serv- 
ices of a stout Irishwoman were secured for one 

.88 5 ] 



day in the week. Thus, by a little management, 
no one of us was overtaxed. Mousie began to give 
Winnie and Bobsey daily lessons ; for we had de- 
cided that the children should not go to school 
until the coming autumn. Early in April, there- 
fore, our country life was passing into a quiet rou- 
tine, not burdensome, at least, within doors ; and 
I justly felt that, if all were well in the citadel of 
home, the chances of outdoor campaigning were 
greatly improved. 

In the dawn of each morning, unless it were 
stormy, Merton patroled the place with his gun, 
looking for hawks and other creatures which at this 
season he was permitted to shoot ; and he looked 
quite as serious and important as if he were sally- 
ing forth to protect us from deadlier foes. For a 
time he saw nothing to fire at, since he had prom- 
ised me not to shoot harmless birds. He always 
indulged himself, however, in one shot at a mark, 
and was becoming sure in his aim at stationary 
objects. One evening, however, when we were 
almost ready to retire, a strange sound startled us. 
At first it reminded me of the half-whining bark 
of a young dog; but the deep, guttural trill that 
followed convinced me that it was a screech-owl, 
for I remembered having heard them when a boy. 

The moment I explained that it was an owl, Mer- 
ton darted for his gun. 

I disliked the uncanny sounds which the bird 
made, and was under the impression that all owls, 
like hawks, should be destroyed. Therefore, I fol- 
lowed Merton out, hoping that he would have a 
successful shot at the night prowler. 

The moonlight illumined everything with a 
soft, mild radiance ; and the trees, with their tra- 
cery of bough and twig, stood out distinctly. Be- 
fore we could discover the creature, it flew with 
noiseless wing from a maple near the door to 
another perch up the lane, and again uttered its 
weird notes. 

Merton was away like a swift shadow, and, screen- 
ing himself behind the fence, stole upon his game. 
A moment later, the report rang out in the still 
night. It so happened that Merton had fired just 
as the bird was about to fly, and had only broken a 
wing. The owl fell to the ground, but led the boy 
a wild pursuit before it was captured, and Mer- 
ton's hands were bleeding when he brought the 
creature in. Unless prevented, it would strike 
savagely with its beak, and the motions of its 
head were as quick as lightning. It was, indeed, a 
strange captive, and the children looked at it in 
wondering and rather fearful curiosity. I granted 
Merton's request that he might put it in a box and 
keep it alive for a while. 

"In the morning," I said, "we all will read 
about it, and can examine it more carefully." 

Among my purchases was a fresh work on nat- 
ural history ; but our minds had been engrossed 
with too many practical questions to give it much 
attention. The next morning we consulted it, and 
found our captive was variously called the little red 
owl, the mottled owl, or the screech-owl. Then fol- 
lowed an account of its character and habits. So 
far from being an ill-boding, harmful creature, we 
learned that it was a useful friend upon which we 
had made war. We were taught that this species 
was a destroyer of mice, beetles, and vermin, thus 
rendering the agriculturist great services which, 
however, are so little known that the bird is every- 
where hunted down without mercy or justice. 

" Surely, this is not true of all owls," I said, and 
by reading further we learned that the barred, or 
hoot owl, and the great horned-owl, were deserving 
of a surer aim of Merton's gun. They prey 
not only upon useful game, but also invade the 
poultry-yard, the horned species being espe- 
cially destructive. Instances were given in which 
these freebooters had killed every chicken upon 
a farm. As they hunt only at night, they are hard 
to capture. Their notes and natures arc said 
to be in keeping with their dark deeds ; for their 
cry is wild, harsh, and unearthly, while in temper 
they are cowardly, savage, and untamable. 

" The moral of this owl episode," I concluded, 
" is that we must learn to know our neighbors, be 
they birds, beasts or human beings, before we 
judge them. This book is not only full of knowl- 
edge, but of information that is practical and 
useful. I move that we read up about the creat- 
ures in our vicinity. Would n't it be well, Merton, 
to learn what to shoot as well as how to shoot ? " 

Protecting his hands with buckskin gloves, the 
boy applied mutton suet to our wounded owl's 
wing. It was eventually healed, and the bird was 
given its liberty. It gradually became sprightly 
and tame, and sociable in the evening, and afforded 
the children and Junior much amusement. 

By the seventh of April there was a prospect of 
warmer and more settled weather, and Mr. Jones 
told us to lose no time in uncovering our Antwerp 
raspberries. They had been bent down close to 
the ground the previous winter and covered with 
earth. To remove this, without breaking the 
canes, required careful and skillful work. We soon 
acquired the knack, however, of pushing and 
throwing aside the soil, then lifting the canes 
gently through what remained and shaking them 
clear. "Be careful to level the ground evenly," 
said Jones, "for it wont do at all to leave hum- 
mocks of dirt around the hills." And we followed 
his instructions. 

The canes were left until a heavy shower of rain 
washed them clean ; then Winnie and Bobsev tied 




them up. We gave steady and careful attention 
to the Antwerps, since they would be our main 
dependence for income. 1 also raked in a liberal 
dressing of wood ashes around the hills of one row 
through the field, intending to note its effect. 

Hitherto the Sundays had been stormy and the 
roads bad, and we had given the days to rest 
and family sociability. But, at last, there came a 
mild, sunny morning, and we resolved to find a 
church-home. I had heard that Dr. Lyman, who 
preached in the nearest village, had the faculty 
of keeping young people awake. Accordingly we 
harnessed the old bay horse to our market-wagon, 
donned our " go-to-meetin's," as Junior called his 
Sunday clothes, and started. Whatever might be 
the result of the ser- 
mon, the drive prom- 
ised to do us good. The 
tender young grass by 
the roadside, and the 
swelling buds of trees, 
gave forth delicious 
odors; a spring haze 
softened the outline of 
the mountains, and 
made them almost as 
beautiful as if clothed 
with foliage ; robins, 
song-sparrows, and 
other birds were so 
tuneful that Mousie 
said she wished they 
might form the choir 
at the church. In- 
deed, the glad spirit of 
Spring was abroad, and 
it found its way into 
our hearts. We soon 
learned that it entered 
largely also into Dr. 
Lyman's sermon. We 
were not treated as 
strangers and intrud- 
ers, but welcomed and 
shown to a pew in a 
way that made us at 
home. I discovered 
that I, too, would be 
kept awake and given 
much to think about. 
We remained until 
Sunday-school, which followed the service, was 
over, and then went home, feeling that life, both 
here and hereafter, was something to be thankful 
for. After dinner, without even taking the pre- 
caution of locking the door, we all strolled down 
the lane and the steeply sloping meadow to our 

wood-lot and the banks of the Moodna Creek. My 
wife had never seen this portion of our place be- 
fore, and she was delighted with its wild beauty 
and seclusion. 

Junior soon joined us, and led the children to a 
sunny bank, from which soon came shouts of joy over 
the first wild-flowers of the season. I seated my wife 
on a rock, and we sat there quietly for a time, in- 


haling the fresh woody odors, 
and listening to the murmurs 
of the creek and the song of 
the birds. Then I asked : 

•' Is n't this better than a city 
flat and a noisy street ? Are not 
these birds pleasanter neighbors 
than t 
etts? ; 

Her glad smile was more elo- 
quent than words could have 
been. Mousie came running to 
us, holding in her hand, which 
trembled from excitement, a lit- 
tle bunch of liverworts and 
anemones. Tears of happiness 
actually stood in her eyes, and 
she could only falter: '"Oh, 
Mamma ! just look .' " And then 
she hastened away to gather 

" That child belongs to nat- 
ure," I said, "and she would 
always be an exile in the city. 
How greatly she has improved in health already ! " 
The air grew damp and chill early, and we soon 
returned to the house. Monday, another fair day, 
found us again absorbed in our busy life, each one 
having good work to do. After it was safe to uncover 
the raspberries, Merton and I had not lost a moment 



in the task. At the time of which I write, we put 
in stakes where they were missing, obtaining not 
a few of them from the wood-lot. We also made 
our second planting of potatoes and other hardy 
vegetables in the garden. The plants in the kitchen 
window were thriving, and during mild, still days we 
carried them to a sheltered place without, that they 
might become hardier and inured to the open air. 

Winnie already had three hens sitting on their 
nests full of eggs, and she was counting the days 
until the three weeks should expire, when the 
little chicks would break their shells. One of the 
hens proved a fickle biddy, and left her nest, much 
to the child's anger and disgust. But the others 
were faithful, and one morning Winnie came bound- 
ing in, saying she had heard the first "peep." 
1 told her to be patient and leave the brood until 
the following day, since I had read that the chicks 
were all stronger for not being taken from the 
nest too soon. She had treated the mother hens 
so kindly that they were tame, and permitted her 
to throw out the empty shells, and exult over each 
new-comer into its short-lived existence. 

Our radishes had come up nicely ; but no sooner 
had the first green leaves expanded than myriads 
of little flea-like beetles devoured them. A timely 
article in my horticultural paper explained that if 
little chickens were allowed to run in the garden 
they would soon destroy these and other insects. 
Accordingly, I improvised a coop by laying down a 
barrel near the radishes and by driving stakes in 
front of it to imprison the hen, which otherwise, 
with the best intentions, would have scratched up 
all my sprouting seeds. Hither we brought her 
the following day, with her downy brood of twelve, 
and they soon began to make themselves useful. 
Winnie fed them with Indian-meal and mashed 
potatoes, and watched over them with more than 
their mother's solicitude, while Merton renewed 
his vigilance against hawks and other enemies. 

With the chicks to watch, and wild-flowers to 
gather, the tying up of raspberries became weary 
prose to Winnie and Bobsey ; but I kept them at it 
during most of the forenoon of every pleasant day, 
and if they performed their task carelessly, I made 
them do it over. I knew that the time was coming 
when many kinds of work would cease to be play, 
to us all, and that we might as well face the fact 
first as last. After the morning duties were over 
and the afternoon lessons learned, there was plenty 
of time for play, and the two little people enjoyed 
it all the more. 

Merton, also, had two afternoons in the week, 
and he and Junior began to bring home strings of 
little sunfish and winfish. Boys often become dis- 
gusted with country life because it is made hard 
and monotonous for them. 

From the first, I had often thought that straw- 
berries should form one of our chief crops. They 
promised well for several reasons, the main one 
being that they would afford a light and useful form 
of labor for all the children. Even Bobsey could 
pick the fruit almost as well as any of us, for he 
had no long back to ache in getting down to it. 
The crop, also, could be gathered and sold before 
the raspberry season began, and this was an im- 
portant fact. We would also have another and 
earlier source of income. I had read a great deal 
about the cultivation of the strawberry, and I had 
visited a Maizeville neighbor who grew them on a 
large scale, and had obtained his views. To make 
my knowdedge more complete, I wrote to my Wash- 
ington Market friend, Mr. Bogart, and his prompt 
letter in reply was encouraging. 

"Don't go into too many kinds," he advised; 
"and don't set too much ground. A few crates 
of fine berries will pay you better than bushels 
of small, soft, worthless trash. Steer clear of 
high-priced novelties and fancy sorts, and begin 
with only those known to pay well in your region. 
Try Wilsons (they 're good to sell, if not to eat) and 
Duchess for early, and the Sharpless and Cham- 
pion for late. Set the last two kinds out side by 
side, for the Champions wont bear alone. A cus- 
tomer of mine cultivates only these four sorts. He 
gives them high culture, and gets big crops and big 
berries, which pay big money. When you want 
crates, I can furnish them, and take my pay out of 
the sales of your fruit. Don't spend much money 
for plants. Buy a few of each kind, and set them 
in moist ground and let them run. By winter you 
will have enough plants to cover your farm." 

I found that I could buy these standard varieties 
in the vicinity; and having made the lower part of 
the garden very rich, I procured, one cloudy day, 
two hundred plants of each kind and set them in 
rows, six feet apart, so that by a little watchfulness 
I could keep them separate. I obtained my whole 
stock for five dollars ; therefore, even counting the 
value of time and everything, the cost of entering 
on strawberry culture was very slight indeed. A 
rainy night followed, and every plant started 

In spite of occasional frosts and cold rains, the 
days grew longer and warmer. 

I proposed to extend my fruit area gradually, 
fearing, with good reason, that much hired help 
would leave small profits. 

That very afternoon Mr. Jones, with his sharp 
steel plow, began turning over clean, deep, even 
furrows, for we had selected a plot for corn and 
potatoes, in view of the fact that it was not stony, 
as was the case with other portions of our little 
farm. When, at last, the ground was plowed, he 

5 74 



said : " We 'd better get the potato ground ready 
and the rows furrowed out right off. Early plantin' 
is the best. How much will ye give to 'em ? " 

" Half the plot," I said. 

" Why, Mr. Durham, that 's a big plantin' for 

•' Well, I 've a plan about that. I think I can 
put Early Rose potatoes in now, and harvest 
them in July or early August ; and then, if the 
books are right, I can set strong plants on enriched 
ground early in August and get a good crop next 
June. I shall have my young plants growing right 
here in my own garden. Merton and I can take 
them up in the cool of the evening and in wet 
weather, and they wont know they 've been moved. 
I propose to get these early potatoes out of the 
ground as soon as possible, even if I have to sell 
part of them before the)- are fully ripe ; then have 
the ground plowed deep and marked out for straw- 
berries, put all the fertilizers I can scrape together 
in the rows, and set the plants as fast as possible. 
I 've read again and again that man)' growers re- 
gard this method as one of the best." 

Planting an acre of potatoes was no slight task 
for us, even after the ground was plowed and har- 
rowed, and the furrows for the rows were marked 
out. I also had to make a half day's journey to the 
city of Newtown to buy more seed. But for a few 
days we worked like beavers. Even Winnie helped 
Merton to drop the seed ; and in the evening we had 
regular potato-cutting "bees," Junior coming over 
to aid us, and my wife and Mousie helping too. 
Songs and stories enlivened these evening hours of 
labor. Indeed, my wife and Mousie performed, 
during the day, a large part of this task, and they 
soon learned to cut the tubers skillfully. I have 
since known this work to be done so carelessly 
that some pieces were cut without a single eye 
upon them. Of course, in such cases there is 
nothing to grow. 

One Saturday night, the last of April, we exulted 
over the fact that our acre was planted and the 
seed well covered. 

Many of the trees about the house, meanwhile, 
had clothed themselves with fragrant promises of 
fruit. All, especially Mousie, had been observant 
of the beautiful changes, and, busy as we had 
been, she, Winnie, and Bobsey had been given 
time to keep our table well supplied with wild 
flowers. Now that they had come in abundance, 
they seemed as essential as our daily food. To a 
limited extent I permitted blooming sprays to be 
taken from the fruit-trees, thinking, with Mousie, 
that cherry blossoms were " almost as sweet as 
cherries." Thus Nature graced our frugal board, 
and suggested that, as she accompanied her useful 
work with beauty and fragrance, so we also could 

lift our toilsome lives above the coarse and sordid 
phase too common in country homes. 

In early May the grass was growing lush and 
strong, and Brindle was driven down the lane to 
the meadow, full of thickets, which bordered on 
the creek. Here she could supply herself with food 
and water until the late autumn. 

With the first days of the month we planted, on 
a part of the garden slope, where the soil was dry 
and warm, very early, dwarf sweet corn, a second 
early variety, Burr's Mammoth, and Stowell's 

" When this planting is up a few inches high," I 
said, " we will make another; for, by so doing, my 
garden-book says, we may have this delicious veg- 
etable till frost comes." 

After reading and some inquiry during the win- 
ter I had decided to buy only McLean's gem peas 
for seed. This low-growing kind required no 
brush and, therefore, far less labor. We also 
planted early dwarf wax-beans, covering the seed, 
as directed, only two inches deep. It was my am- 
bition to raise a large crop of Lima beans, hav- 
ing read that few vegetables yielded more food to 
a small area than they. So, armed with an axe and 
hatchet, Merton and I went into some young 
growth on the edge of our wood-lot and cut thirty 
poles, lopping off the branches so as to leave little 
crotches on which the vines could rest as a support. 
Having sharpened these poles we set them firmly 
in the garden. My book said that, if the earth were 
cold, wet, or heavy, the beans would decay instead 
of coming up. The tenth of the month being fine 
and promising, I pressed the eye or germ side of 
the beans into the soil and covered them only one 
inch deep. In the evening we set out our cabbage 
and cauliflower plants where they should be allowed 
to mature. The tomato plants, which were more 
tender than their other companions, had been 
started in the kitchen window, and I set them out 
about four inches apart in a sheltered place. We 
could thus cover them at night and protect them a 
little from the midday sun for a week or two longer. 

Nor were Mousie's flowering-plants forgotten. 
She had watched over them from the seed with tire- 
less care, and now we made a bed and helped the 
happy child to put her beloved little nurslings in 
the open ground where they were to bloom. 

The next morning Merton and I began our 
great undertaking — the planting of the other acre 
of ground, next to the potatoes, with field corn. 
Mr. Jones had harrowed it comparatively smooth. 
I had a light plow with which to mark out the fur- 
rows four feet apart each way. At the intersection 
of these furrows the seed was to be dropped. 

We kept to work manfully, although the day 
was warm, and by noon the plot was furrowed one 

,88 5 .] 



way. After dinner we took an hour's partial rest 
in shelling our corn, and then started in again, 
and in the same manner began furrowing at right 
angles with the first rows. Mcrton dropped the 
corn after we had run half a dozen furrows. The 
lulls were thus about four feet apart each way. 

" Drop five kernels," I said; for Mr. Jones had 
told us that " four stalks were enough and that 
three would do," but had added, " 1 plant five 
kernels, for some of 'em don't come up, and the 
crows and such varmints take some of the others. 
And if all of 'em grow, it 's easier to pull up one 
stalk at the first hoeing than to plant over again." 

We found that putting in the corn was a lighter 
task than planting the potatoes, even though we 
did our own furrowing ; and by the middle of May 
we were complacent over the fact that we had 
succeeded with our general spring work far better 
than we had hoped, remembering that we were 
novices who had to take much counsel from 
books and from our kind, practical neighbor. 

The foliage of the trees was now out in all its 
delicately shaded greenery, and midday often 
gave us a foretaste of summer heat. The slight 
blaze kindled in the old fire-place, after supper, 

(To h- , 

was more for the sake of good cheer than 
needed warmth, and at last it was dispensed with. 
Thrushes and other birds of richer and fuller 
song had come, and morning and evening we 
left the door open that we might enjoy the varied 

Our first plantings of potatoes and early vege- 
tables were now up nicely, and a new phase of 
labor — that of cultivation — began. New broods 
of chickens were coming off, and Winnie had 
many families to look after. Nevertheless, al- 
though there was much to attend to, the season 
was bringing a brief breathing-spell, and I re- 
solved to take advantage of it. So I said one 
Friday evening : "If to-morrow is fair, we '11 take 
a vacation. What do you say to a day's fishing 
and sailing on the river? " A jubilant shout 
greeted this proposal, and when it had subsided. 
Mousie asked, " Can Junior go with us ? " 

" Certainly," I replied ; " I '11 go over right after 
supper, and make sure that his father consents." 

Mr. Jones said "Yes," and Merton and Junior 
were soon busy with their preparations, which 
were continued until the long twilight deepened 
into dusk. 

•onthiued. ) 



A T U N E R H Y M F. . 



|randpa'5 old slipper and baby 5 new shoe 
"pipping lovingly onward together, 
fjfeeping time. 

"fo the rhyme 

Qf the sea and the birds, 

find a chime of the bells in the heather 





5y William M. Baker. 

the frierson's. 

" You do not mean to say that Waldo and 
Ruthven are twins ? It is impossible." 

'■Yes, sir; twin brothers. Are they more un- 
like than are their sisters, Hessie and Bessie? 
They are twins, also." 

" Well, all I can say is, that I should never have 
believed it. What can poor Mrs. Frierson do 
with such a boy as Waldo ? Ruthven is all right. 
You would think he was~"a grown man. But 
of all the wild, harum-scarum, rattle-brained boys 
I ever knew, Waldo Frierson is the worst. He 
is so bright and handsome a fellow, too. Ruth- 
ven will be a great help to his mother. And 
as for the girls — well, she can depend upon 
Bessie, but I am not so sure of Hessie ; she is too 
much like her brother Waldo." 

This was about the way people talked when 
the great calamity befell the Friersons. How that 
befell can be told in a few words. Years before, 
when living at the East, Mr. and Mrs. Frierson, 
then altogether too young and too poor to think of 
such a thing (so every one said), had fallen so much 
in love with each other as to rush into what was 
well considered " a very imprudent marriage." Be- 
ing young and loving, they laughed at the gloomy 
forebodings of their friends, and went to work with 
a will, the young husband being half lawyer, half 
farmer, while his happy little wife economized and 
kept house with an energy which it did one good 
to see. 

But •'No, Bessie, we can't win the fight here," 
the husband was at length compelled to say to his 
wife, when Waldo and Ruthven were still babies. 
" There is but one thing to do. We must go West. 
The farm your grandfather left you in Texas is our 
best chance. As soon as you are strong enough, we 
will sell out here and emigrate. What do you say ? " 

Vol. XII.— 37. 

As the young couple had but one heart between 
them, so they were always of but one mind. In 
fact, it was the wife who had long urged the Texas 
plan upon her husband, for she was, as every one 
acknowledged, the wiser of the two. 

Tims it came to pass that by the time their boys 
were twelve years old, and their twin girls about 
two years younger, they had made for themselves 
a very comfortable home on the Texan farm. It 
was styled Manchac Springs, and was some twelve 
miles west of Austin, the capital of Texas, and 
on the road to San Marcos, New Braunfels, and 
San Antonio —a road which crossed the vast prai- 
ries that stretched away to the Rio Grande and 
Mexico. The house was a handsome one, upon 
an eminence well wooded with live-oaks, while 
the spring was a wonder to all who saw it, 
gushing out from beneath the hill, pure and 
abundant. By hard work, slow and steady in- 
crease, under the wise suggestion of the wife 
and the persistent energy of her husband, the 
horses, cows, sheep, and poultry had so thriven 
that the household were really very comfortable. 
"And the best of it is, our boys and girls have 
had such an out-of-door training in this glorious 
climate, that they can not fail to be strong and 
happy," the husband said one day. 

"No, dear," his wife replied, "the very best 
thing of all is, that our breaking away from the 
East and our removal here have enabled us. their 
parents, to do so much more for them than « e could 
have done had we remained where we were. If we 
can but continue to have the same peaceful, quiet 

life " and here she stopped, with a little sigh, as 

if she feared something, she hardly knew what. 

So the years passed pleasantly and happily, 
until the date of the opening of our story. 
Spring had begun early that year, and never had 
the prospects of a fine crop seemed so certain, 
when suddenly the grasshoppers smote the whole 




region like an invading host. Then followed 
drought, until the soil seemed burnt to ashes. The 
spring ceased flowing. Scores of the cattle choked 
themselves to death striving, in their hunger for 
something green, to feed upon the thorny cactus. 
The sheep disappeared as into thin air. The 
best horses were stolen by men who had been ren- 
dered desperate by the hard times. 

One has not the heart to tell all the disasters 
which befell them. 

" It only needed this .' " Mr. Frierson said, toss- 
ing a letter into his wife's lap as he entered the 
house one hot day in August. A glance at the 
letter told her of fresh calamity. Her brother 
Cyrus had failed in business, having made too 
hasty ventures. This meant ruin for the Friersons, 
because her husband had helped her brother by 
becoming responsible for a large amount of money 
which this failure would now compel him to pay. 
And she had hardly finished reading the letter 
when she saw her husband fall back upon the floor. 
A sunstroke had given the last blow to a man whose 
health, never very strong, had been steadily under- 
mined by a slow succession of disasters. 

For a time it seemed as if the widow would never 
recover from the shock of her husband's death, at- 
tended and followed by so many trials. But grad- 
ually her strength returned, and she grew able to 
take up her life again. By an admirable law of the 
State, the homestead could not be seized from her 
and her children ; that and her two boys and her 
two girls were literally all that remained. " It is 
dreadful, dreadful," Waldo said to his brother every 
day. " It shatters all of our plans. For oh, JwivX 
had hoped ! " 

The brothers were sixteen years old by this time. 
Waldo had long set his heart upon going to college. 
He had been at school in Austin, working hard to 
fit himself for Harvard. He was so bright, so 
ambitious, so eager to succeed, that his teachers 
prophesied brilliant things for him in college and 
in his after life. His father had been compelled to 
drop the law and give himself up wholly to the 
farm since he came to Texas, but he had not lost 
his old liking for the profession. Over and over 
again, when sitting out on the porch of an evening, 
he had told Waldo the story of his own youthful 

"I had it all arranged," he would say to his 
favorite son, who would sit at his feet, listening 
eagerly, " to make a great name at the bar. Then I 
should do one of two things : either remain a lawyer 
and make a large fortune, or go into politics, and 
be sent to the legislature or to congress. People 
used to say I made splendid speeches, Waldo, 
my boy. Oh, well, I must live that life in you. 
Study hard : sweep everything before you when 

you go to college. Then come back to Austin. 
I know a lawyer who will take you into his office. 
In a new State like this, you are certain to make 
a grand success. You are far ahead of what I was 
at your age, my son." 

Mrs. Frierson remonstrated with her too-san- 
guine husband. "Waldo is over-ambitious as it 
is," she said ; " you are but adding flame to fire. 
And you forget Ruthven." 

"No, I don't, Bessie," answered Mr. Frierson. 
" But Ruthven is different. Sober old chap that he 
is, all he cares for is to be educated as a machinist, 
and a machinist he shall be. As soon as he is old 
enough, and we can afford it, he shall go to the 
Institute of Technology in Boston. And with Ruth- 
ven in Boston, and Waldo at Harvard, I shall have 
nothing left to wish for, unless it be to have them 
graduated and back here again, making fame and 
fortune for themselves ! " 

Neither of the parents had any fears as to Ruth- 
ven, but they always agreed that Waldo would 
make the more striking success of the two, if — 
if — / The boy was so full of his fun, so daring 
when it came to breaking a horse or roping a wild 
cow, so mischievous and fitful in his ways, that 
there was no telling what he might do. 

But when the father, crushed beneath his quick- 
coming calamities, so suddenly died, all this plan- 
ning seemed to have taken place ages before ; and 
Waldo, when he saw his long and eagerly cherished 
hopes in life so quickly and so utterly overthrown, 
changed from a gay and talkative boy, and be- 
came as miserable as a broken-down old man of 
seventy. He would wander off across the prairie 
after supper, and, flinging himself on the ground, 
would lie there in the dark and weep and rave. 

" I am almost afraid he cares more for the ruin of 
his hopes," his widowed mother said at last to her 
other son, " than he does for the death of his 

"No, it is only for a little while," Ruthven 
replied. " Waldo is not selfish at heart. He is 
dreadfully cut up just now. But you will be aston- 
ished to see with what enthusiasm he will go into 
whatever he may determine to do. His suffering, 
like his enjoyment, always runs to extremes." 

" He is your dear father over again," exclaimed 
his mother, who could only yield her hand to that 
of her son, while her eyes filled with tears. She 
needed to say no more. Ruthven understood her. 
From the beginning of their misfortunes, he had 
grown, it seemed, almost into a man, and all the 
more so since the death of his father. He did not 
say much, and he seemed never to leave his 
mother's side ; yet, whenever needed, he would 
be here and there over the whole place, seeing to 
everything, attending, as the months rolled by, 




to all the perplexing matters which had to be 
arranged; grave, quiet, efficient, never thinking 
of himself. Often, when his mother would lie at 
midnight weeping in her bed, she would be aware 
of some one kneeling by her side, whispering com- 
fort to her. She did not need to be told it was 

There was almost as great a difference between 
Mrs. Frierson's two daughters as between their 
brothers. Hessie was black-eyed, rosy-cheeked, 
always having more to say, and upon every sub- 
ject, than is common even to healthful and light- 
hearted girls; singing to herself, whistling, for 
that matter, like a blackbird. Bessie was of a 
heavier frame : her head set more solidly upon her 
shoulders ; her eyes were gray and serious ; she had 
less to say than Hessie. In a word, she was the 
counterpart of Ruthven, fully as valuable in her 
way, her mother's trusted housekeeper. 

"And yet, is it not strange ! " Mrs. Frierson often 
thought to herself. " One would think that Bessie 
would be devoted to Ruthven, whereas Waldo is her 
idol ; while laughing, mischief-loving Hessie thinks 
there never was a son or brother like Ruthven." 

As the sad months went slowly by, Mrs. Frier- 
son gradually rallied her strength and could look 
more calmly at the family fortunes. 

"It is very plain," Ruthven said to his mother, 
brother, and sisters, one morning after breakfast, 
" that we must look our position squarely in the 
face. We are deeply in debt. It is impossible to 
go on as we now are. A new course must be 
entered upon, if we are to better ourselves. The 
boys and girls of the family are brave and strong. 
There is but one desire among us. We must select 
wisely and deliberately what is best to be done, and 
do it. Now, what shall that be ? Who can tell us ? " 

It seemed to be the oddest chance in the world; 
but just as he asked the question, the man of all 
men whom they least expected to see walked into 
the room, — the man to whom so much of their 
trouble was due, — their mother's only brother, 
Uncle Cyrus ! 

Chapter II. 


The family group that fronted this unexpected 
visitor was a striking one. 

In her favorite chair sat Mrs. Frierson. with 
her hair grown whiter by her recent sorrow, but 
with a new purity and refinement quite in keeping 
with it, which hushed her children into a deeper 
love and veneration for her. Hessie and Bessie 
had risen and stood a little behind their mother, 
one on either side. Hessie was a head taller 
than Bessie, slight of frame, quick-motioned, 

with always an abundance to talk about or to laugh 
over, forever on her feet, eager to please those she 
liked, and by far the livelier and prettier of the two. 
Sober Bessie, not so agile, all the more home-like 
for her freckles and her motherly and domestic 
ways, seemed to be two years the older, and to be 
closely in accord with her mother in all her thoughts 
and ways. Ruthven was still seated at the break- 
fast-table, in what had been his father's chair ; 
without a word said, he had taken the place of his 
father in that as in everything, so far as was possible 
to a son not yet seventeen years old. Waldo was 
on his feet and, in reply to Ruthven, was about to 
give his ideas of what everybody ought to do. He 
had no hesitation as to that ; and he was very eager 
and enthusiastic in what he had to propose. 

It was as earnest and united a family group as 
one could wish to see; but in an instant the same 
group was as disturbed as if Uncle Cyrus had been 
a live coal dropped into gunpowder. After a mo- 
ment of blank astonishment at sight of him, Waldo 
sprang forward, red with anger, his hands clenched 
threateningly ; even Ruthven became ashen, and 
compressed his lips ; while the girls started forward 
to place themselves between their mother and this 
uncle whom they had at one time loved, but whom 
they could not forgive for all the loss and trouble 
his rash ventures had brought upon them. Certain 
it was, that their losses through him had been the 
finishing stroke of the many disasters that had 
caused their father's death and beggared them all. 

judged by his looks, heseemed fortunateenough. 
Not as tall as Waldo, he was almost as broad as 
both the boys rolled into one. He was robust and 
ruddy. Except a pair of side-whiskers, ns red and 
bushy as his hair, he was closely shaven ; well- 
featured and fair, you could not have desired to see 
a face more open and cheery. Any one would have 
taken him for a very prosperous and popular 
banker ; and a smile came to one's face at the mere 
sight of him, so happy and free from care did he 
seem. For a moment only, as he stood in the 
door-way, his face flushed and grew pale. He 
knew the misery he had wrought — he could not 
help seeing in what light he was regarded. 

Mrs. Frierson, though still pale and trembling, 
was the first to regain her composure, and sat 
awaiting in silence what her brother might have to 

" My dear Bessie " he began, and hesitated. 

It required a strong will to do so when thus 
addressed, but Mrs. Frierson looked steadily at 
him. And, at the same time, she seemed to hush 
and control her children by the simple .aising of 
her hand. 

" Please hear me," said their visitor, in the deep 
silence which fell upon them. " Do you think that 

5 8o 



I do not know all the dreadful work I have done ? 
No more intending to do it, Bessie, than a baby - 
no more intending it — no more intending it ! " he 
repeated, wiping his forehead with his white hand- 
kerchief. Somehow, there was the sincerity, too, 
of a child in what he said. " Yes, Heaven 

visitor did not take his pleading eyes from hers as 
he spoke. " Here I am, not an old man, — young, 
strong, willing to work, eager to do all I can. 
Yes, and I can do more for you than you think I 
can. I know things you do not. I have a plan 
— a splendid plan " 


knows how sorry I am — Heaven knows ! Can you 
not see what I am here for ? You have known me 
always, Bessie ; you will understand what I suffer 
in coming here " 

"What do you come for? " Waldo broke out, 
refusing to look at his mother, his face flushed. 

"You know why I am here, Bessie!" — the 

" That is what you told my poor father ! " cried 
Waldo. " You had plans, great plans, glorious 
plans! It was impossible for you to fail ! All you 
needed was a little money " 

" I know it, I know it ! " Tears gathered in the 
uncle's eyes ; his voice was pitiful to hear. " But 
why should I force myself on you ? How easily I 

i88 5 .; 



could have kept myself far away ! I can do you no 
further harm. Bear with me for a little while. I 
come only to do what 1 can to right things ; and 
I can right them ! " 

" You can not bring my husband back," said 
his sister, with sad calmness. 

"Oh, Mother! please, Mother!" It was Waldo 
who made the exclamation, his face dreadful to 
see, his lips drawn. 

Uncle Cyrus did not take his eyes from the 
mother's. There was an almost infantile sin- 
cerity in the man, a pitiful pathos which not even 
Waldo could wholly resist. Ruthven was study- 
ing his uncle's face steadily, sternly. "Oh, if I 
only could make you believe in me ! " he almost 
sobbed. " I have a plan to help you, — but I can't 
say anything about that now. You would not un- 
derstand, would not trust " Suddenly he grew 

grave and calm. " Believe me, Bessie," he said, 
" I can be of great help to you. Only try me." 

"Why can you not go off somewhere and make 
some money, and send it back to us to help make 
up? Why do you wish to be with us ? Why did 
you not write to Mother ? " And yet Ruthven felt, 
as he angrily spoke, that — foolish, almost babyish 
for a man of forty, as was the course of the uncle 
— it was entirely characteristic of him. No other 
man would have come so unexpectedly upon them 
after all that had happened ; but Uncle Cyrus's was 
a queer nature. 

It was the first time Ruthven had spoken, but 
his uncle did not look from the mother to the son. 

"I follow my heart," he said. "And I have 
reasons which some day you will be able to under- 
stand. Can't you comprehend that a man who has 
done the mischief I have done to those he loves, has 
to do something to atone for it ? Do you sup- 
pose," he flashed out, with an angry glance at his 
nephews, "that a man of my age would bring him- 
self to go down on his knees, to beg, to entreat, 
if I did not have good reason for doing so ?" 

It was an hour before they arrived at any result. 

Mrs. Frierson was more perplexed when she- 
went to her room that night than she had ever 
been before. When their visitor had gone to his 
room, she and her children talked over again the 
uncle's story — his earlier life, and how he had 
ruined them. There had been a time when the 
children had loved and believed in him almost as 
much as in their own parents. Their long affec- 
tion for him before the mischief was done, the un- 
doubted earnestness and sincerity of the man, their 
pressing need of one older than themselves — these 
all had a certain influence in his favor ; and, in a 
few weeks, good-natured and now energetic Uncle 
Cyrus had tacitly assumed his position as a mem- 
ber of the household. 

Ruthven did not work harder than he. Up 
as early in the morning as any one, the uncle 
fed the horses, turned the cows into the prairie, at- 
tended to hauling the wood, and did a dozen things 
before the welcome summons to breakfast came. 
For the present, Mrs. Frierson kept no servants. 
The family did not care to hire any help except a 
Swede occasionally to help in an emergency. 

The girls could never get used to seeing their 
uncle milk the cows. Such a thing was not done by 
men in the South, but Uncle Cyrus, like his 
brother, was from the East, and he took a certain 
odd pleasure in doing again what he once had done 
when a boy. What made his dairy-man proclivi- 
ties seem still more out of place was that, after a 
day of hard work, Uncle C^rus was wont to slip 
upstairs, take a bath, and come down to supper 
dressed in his best ; for he loved to loll back in 
an easy-chair in the hall or on the porch, listening 
to the playing and singing of his nieces, after the 
evening meal. 

" Who would think that Uncle had been showing 
us how to break young steers all day ? " Waldo 
whispered to Hessie, one evening. " There he sits 
in his clean linen and broadcloth, doing nothing, 
exactly like a bank president at home." 

" But he is n't exactly what he used to be before 
all this happened," Hessie remarked. " He holds 
himself aloof from us sometimes." 

" I am quite sure," Waldo replied, " that he has 
an idea of some kind that he is n't quite ready to tell 
us about yet. Like Bessie and yourself, and 
Mother, too, Ruthven and I are not as free with 
him as we used to be before Father died — how can 
we be? But, Hessie, I am coming, I 'm afraid, to 
like him better than before. I 've half a notion 
what his idea is, and it 's grand/ " 

" Hark, Waldo ! Who 's there ? " 

There was a halloo at the gate opening on the 
white limestone highway, for it was now after dark. 
Waldo, silencing the dogs, went to see who it was, 
and came back with a tall man whom, as he loomed 
up through the night, Hessie knew to be Prince 
Braunfels. A live German prince in so thoroughly 
democratic a part of the world as Texas may seem 
almost an improbability. Yet such was the fact. 

Not very long after Mr. Frierson had settled in 
Texas, a young prince from one of the smaller 
German principalities had bought a tract of land 
in the valley of the Guadaloupe, and had emi- 
grated thither with a colony of his subjects. The 
Prince had a dozen other names besides Braunfels, 
but that was as much of a name as a busy people 
generally could find time to apph to the set- 
tlement he made. Business at the Austin Land 
Office called the Prince very often to the capital, 
and he had long since grown into the habit of 




stopping for the night at the comfortable house 
at Manchac Springs. Living as the Prince did, 
among his ignorant colonists, he became singu- 
larly fond of Mr. Frierson, who 
was almost the only educated 
gentleman within a very large ex- 
tent of territory. Many an enor- 
mous meerschaum of tobacco 
had the good Prince smoked in 
the company of his American 
friend, upon whose hospitable 
veranda he often sat talking, in 
his broken English, far into the 

Rough, and often overbearing 
with others, the PriSce had al- 
ways cherished a great liking for 
the wife and children of his friend. 
He had attended the funeral of 
Mr. Frierson, had seemed to be 
deeply touched at the bereave- 
ment of the family, and had al- 
ways, when passing, dropped in 
for an hour and often for the 

" I vants to see your goot 
Mutter," he had told Waldo, as 
they now walked to the house. 
" I haf bizness mit her. How 
you vas grown ! You know 1 go 
back to Schermany ; no ? My 
foolish peoples — Oh, I tole your 
good Fader about it long times 
ago! — mine peoples is got too 
big for dere Prince. Dey haf 
become A-mer -ri-ca us / Dey 
don't take off dere hats ven I 
rides by. Am / become A-mer- 
x\-can ? No, mine poy ! I go back 
to civilization ! It is bizness I haf 
mit your Mutter. Tell your 
brudder to come in, too. Not 
your uncle — no! no uncle ; not 
von leetle finger of him." 

" Somehow," the mother said 
to her children at supper the 
next evening, ''if we do our 
duty and put our trust in God, 
we may be sure that he will take 
care of us. Who would have dreamed of Prince 
Braunfels's proposition last night? Yet 1 can al- 

Looking up, the mother saw how Waldo's face 
kindled with sudden light as his uncle spoke, 
and her heart sank as she recognized a likeness 


between uncle and nephew that she had not 
observed before. Then her eyes sought Ruth- 
ready see that what he proposes fits perfectly into ven's. as he at that moment looked at her ; 

our purpose to help us forward." 

" And so, too, I hope," suggested Uncle Cyrus, 
modestly, ' : you will find it will be with my plan; 
when I am ready, that is, to suggest it. It wont 
interfere with the other." 

and son understood each other 

and mother 

And now, what was the business which had 
brought the German Prince ? Upon that turned 
the future of every one there. 

( To be continued. ) 




(A Scries of Brief Papers concerning the Great Musicians. ) 

By Agatha Tunis. 



Of all musicians who have been creators in their 
art, none were more original than Haydn. Unable 
to obtain any instruction in musical composition, 
he was almost entirely self-taught. This, which 
to an ordinary person would have been a serious 
drawback, proved highly favorable to Haydn's suc- 
cess. Thrown upon his own resources, he made 
his own style and wrought very great changes in 
instrumental music. 

Joseph Haydn was born in the little village of 
Rohrau, Austria, on March 31, 1732. His father 
was a wheelwright, and Haydn's early days were 
passed in a peasant's cottage. His parents were 
simple, industrious people, who were determined 
that their children should, above all else, be indus- 
trious. The father had a tenor voice, often accom- 
panying himself on the harp, though playing 
entirely by ear, and the family, after the German 
fashion, devoted their evenings to music. Soon 
Joseph astonished his parents by the accuracy with 
which he sang everything that he heard. Having 
seen the schoolmaster play the violin, it was his 
delight to imitate him with two pieces of wood for 
violin and bow. A cousin named Frankh was so 
delighted with one of the child's performances that 
he offered to give him a musical education. At 
first it was doubtful if the offer would be accepted, 
as the mother wished her son to be a priest or, at 
least, a schoolmaster. Finally, his father, who 
felt that he himself might have made a musician, 
determined that the child's talent should be culti- 
vated ; so to Hamburg little Haydn went, and found 
in Frankh an excellent though a severe teacher. 
Haydn said afterward, " At this time of my life, I 
got more flogging than food." He was, however, 
always grateful to his master for his severity, as it 
taught him to be a close student. Haydn now 
studied the violin and vocal music. " When I was 
six years old," he says, "I stood up like a man 
and sang masses in the church choir, and could 
play a little on the clavier and violin." The child 
was not old enough to take care of himself, and in 
after life he told how it distressed him at this time 
to find his clothes torn and soiled, and not know 
how to improve their appearance. There is a story 
that one day a drummer was wanted in a certain 
procession, and that though Haydn had received no 
instruction on this instrument, his master gave him 

a few hints and forced him to join the band. The 
child was too small to carry the drum, so it was borne 
on the shoulders of a boy who marched in front of 
him, and an amusing sight the pair must have 
been. Haydn afterward became a fine performer 
on the drum, and it always remained one of his 
favorite instruments. 

In 1740 he was made chorister at St. Stephen's, 
Vienna, which was a rare piece of fortune. He 
now learned singing, the clavier, and the violin 
from the best masters, besides some Latin, cipher- 
ing, and writing. He worked hard to improve his 
advantages, and he has said that from that time he 
did not pass even a day without practicing from 
sixteen to eighteen hours. He now began to be 
anxious to compose, and though he received no 
instruction in this important branch of music, he 
covered every sheet of paper he could find. " It 
must be all right," he would say, " if the paper 
is nice and full." One day he showed a com- 
position to his master, who laughed at it, telling 
the boy he must study harmony. Haydn was too 
poor to pay a teacher, but he was not dismayed ; 
he bought a second-hand book on composition, 
and in his cheerless attic, without fire, shivering 
and sleepy, he toiled over it till he mastered it. 

Young Haydn's voice now began to change, and 
his prospects grew very black. One day his love of 
fun led him to clip the queue, or pigtail, — in which 
fashion the hair was then worn, — of one of his 
school-mates. The master threatened to flog the 
culprit, but Haydn preferred to leave. Thrust 
homeless upon the world, he was obliged to 
earn his own living. Friends advanced him money 
for his rent, and he received his food in exchange 
for lessons on the pianoforte. He now devoted him- 
self to study and practice, paying especial atten- 
tion to Emmanuel Bach. In after life, Bach de- 
clared that Haydn alone understood his works. 

In 1761, Haydn wasappointed capellmeister* to 
Prince Esterhazy, a wealthy Austrian noble. His 
patron owned a beautiful country-seat, which, in 
addition to its natural beauties, included two thea- 
ters for musical rehearsals, and so lovely was the 
spot that the Prince arrived there early in spring 
and staid until the end of autumn. It made the 
members of the orchestra very unhappy to be so 
long away from their families, and Haydn, who had 
plenty of leisure for composition and musicians 
enough to perform his works, was the only happy 

: A capellmeister was the conductor of the private orchestra of a court or church. 




one. He loved and sympathized with the men, 
and at last he wrote for them his " Farewell Sym- 
phony." They were very home-sick, and, as the 
Prince showed no signs of leaving, Haydn hit upon 
this novel plan to make him return. In this Fare- 
well symphony the instruments, one by one, cease 
playing. At its performance in the^Prince's thea- 
ter, as soon as a musician stopped, he left the stage. 
The Prince showed his appreciation of the music 
and the joke by returning to Vienna and allowing 
the musicians to return to their homes. 

In 1790 the Prince died, and Haydn determined 
to visit London. He spent his last day in Vienna 
with Mozart, whom he dearly loved, and to whom 
he was the truest of friends. Haydn was now 
nearly sixty. His face, though stern in repose, 
softened and mellowed in conversation, and his 
dark-gray eyes had a kindly glance for all. "Any 
one can see by the look of me," he used to say, 
" that I am a good-natured fellow." His manner 
was quiet and earnest, and, though a modest man, 
he was very sensitive, and enjoyed praise and 

Haydn made two trips to London, where he was 
very warmly received. There he wrote his "Sur- 
prise Symphony," so called because a number of 
soft passages are followed by a sudden explosive 
sound from the drums, which startles one un- 
acquainted with the composition, which Haydn 
intended as a joke. When he returned to Austria 
he received a surprise cf a far different kind. Some 
friends took him to Rohrau, where, to his astonish- 
ment, he saw a monument and bust of himself 
next to his birthplace. On entering the house 
his feelings so overcame him that he wept, and 
kissed the threshold. Pointing to the little bench 
by the stove, he said that there his musical educa- 
tion had begun. 

When in London, Haydn heard the English na- 
tional anthem, " God Save the King." He loved 
his country, and wished that his countrymen, 
too, might be able to express their patriotism 
in song. Accordingly, he wrote the " Emperor's 
Hymn," which always remained his favorite com- 

During his London visit he also attended a con- 
cert where Handel's music was sung. When the 
"Hallelujah Chorus" was given, Haydn broke 
down and wept like a child. He then determined 
to write an oratorio, and, after his return home, 
began his oratorio of the "Creation." He la- 
bored over it, and poured the greatest enthusiasm 
into it. He says: " I knelt down every day and 
prayed God to strengthen me for my work." He- 
was so modest, that, though he felt the value of the 

"Creation." he did not dare to think the public 
would, and said, on handing it to the publisher : 
" As for myself, now an old man, I only wish and 
hope that the critics may not handle my ' Crea- 
tion ' with too great severity." While people were 
still singing its melodies, Haydn reluctantly con- 
sented to write the oratorio of the " Seasons." 
Although at the time both oratorios were admired, 
the " Creation" is now by far the more popular 
of the two. Haydn overtaxed himself in writing 
the " Seasons," and his health was never good 

The last years of his life were cheered by the 
kindness of friends and the attentions of artists, 
who loved to honor the great master. After a 
long retirement, he appeared once more in public 
at a performance of the " Creation." He was 
carried to the hall in a chair, but the excitement 
was too much for him ; he became more and 
more agitated as the performance progressed, and 
it was found necessary to take him home. People 
thronged around his chair anxious for a word or 
look, Beethoven, who kissed him, being among 
the number. Five days before he died, Haydn 
was borne to the piano, when he played his " Em- 
peror's Hymn " three times over. The end came 
on May 31, 1809. 

Haydn was a man who made the most of his 
gifts. He was never satisfied, and always strove 
to reach a higher ideal. He once said: "I have 
only just learned in my old age to use the wind- 
instruments, and now that I do understand them 
I must leave the world." He composed so much 
that one would think he wrote quickly, but such 
was not the case. When an idea occurred to him, 
he would note it in a little book that he always 
carried with him, and afterward he would work 
it over with the greatest care. He felt his genius 
was a gift from God which he must use for the 
good of others. " God has given me talent," he 
said, "and I thank him for it. I think I have 
done my duty and have been of use in my genera- 
tion." In writing for the pianoforte, he paid great 
attention to the melody, which renders his works 
equally interesting to young and old. They are 
always fresh and cheerful, and are often founded on 
some little romance or incident. Haydn did so 
much for musical composition, especially the sym- 
phony, and was so genial and kind to his fellow- 
musicians, and so fond of children, that in his later 
years he was always called "Papa Haydn." The 
name is still frequently used in referring to him. An 
account of one of Haydn's charming " Children's 
Symphonies " has already been given to the readers 
of this magazine, in St. Nicholas for May, 1874. 



By Sarah A. Peple. 

Yes, we are the keys, 
The mischievous keys, 
Who love to do nothing but bother 
and tease. 

Now we 're off with a rush ! 
Don't tell on us! — Hush! 
We mean to play truant as 

long as we please. 

< >h, wont it be fun, 
When ihe search has 
begun ? 
When up and down stairs all the people 
will run ? 

They '11 rummage the floors, 
The bureaus nnd doors, — 
And their patience and breath will be gone ere 
they 're done ! 



Not a sound or a jingle 

Shall make their ears tingle, 
Or give them a clew to our snug hiding-place ; 

We '11 pretend to be sleeping, 

While slyly we 're peeping 
To see all the wrath and dismay in each face. 


The doors all are locked, 

A.nd the closet is stocked 
With jam, and with pickles and other good things: 

But they can't get a bite, 

Until we come to light — 
Who '11 say after this, now, that keys are not kings ? 

They 're coming quite near us. 

We fear they will hear us. 
Let 's keep very quiet until they have passed. 

What a row they are making ! 

And, oh, what a shaking 
We 're certain to get when they find us at last ! 


5 86 





By Maroaret Eytinge. 

One lovely summer's day the sky was blue and 
the sunbeams bright ; the birds were singing gayly 
and the bees humming loudly ; the butterflies were 
visiting the flowers, and the flowers were saying how 
glad they were to see them, and everything was 
just as it should be on a lovely summer's day, 
when suddenly the breeze, which had been whis- 
pering soft and low at early morn, grew angry, — 
no one ever knew why, — and, swelling into a bois- 
terous wind, hurried the birds back to their nests, 
drove the frightened insects into places of shelter, 
puffed rudely in the faces of the lilies until they 
hung their sweet heads and were ready to cry, and 
then flew up, up, up to the sky, where it met some 
dark clouds, which it sent skurrying across the 
sun, and at last down came a heavy shower. 

Well, when the breeze first changed its low mur- 
mur to a growl, the insects who were in the flower- 
garden fled to the grape-arbor and sheltered them- 
selves beneath the spreading branches and broad 
leaves of the friendly grape-vines. 

Here, for a moment or two, they all remained 
motionless and quiet — with the exception of a tiny 
Midge that could n't have kept still to have saved 
its life, and who whirled, and whirled, and whirled 
about in the air ; and then an old Wasp, who had 
alighted on a dead, dry branch, began sawing off 
some of the fibers of the wood with her sharp teeth. 

The Midge stopped whirling. 

" Why do you eat wood, Wasp ? " she asked. 

" I 'm not eating it," answered the Wasp, who, 
however, by this time was certainly chewing it. 




" What a/r you doing, then, if I may be so 
bold ? " said the curious Midget. 

" Making paper." was the reply. 

" Making paper?" repeated the Midge. " How 
strange ! " 

•'Not at all," said the Wasp. "Our family 
were the first paper-makers in the world." 

•• What for ? " said the Midge. 

■' We build our nests of it," answered the Wasp. 

" Oh ! you build your nests of it ? Dear, dear, 
is n't that queer? " and the Midge began to whirl 
around again. 

Just then a large and handsome Bee, tired of 
being idle so long, spread its wings and hovered 
over some scarlet honeysuckles that had climbed 
up among the grape-vines. 

"What are you going to do, Bee?" asked the 
Midge, pausing once more in her airy dance. 

" Gather honey," replied the Bee. 

" That 's jolly," said Midget. " 1 think, for 
myself, I 'd like that better than paper-making." 

" Our family," continued the Bee, " were the 
first, and, what 's more, are still the only honey- 
makers in the wide, wide world." 

" How fortunate ! " said the Midge. 

" Extremely fortunate," said a rasping voice from 
the very top of the arbor, and, looking up, Midget 
and her companions beheld a brown-coated insect 
w-ho, although shorter and stouter, strongly re- 
sembled the busy Bee, and who, comfortably 
stowed away between two bunches of young 
grapes, looked down upon them. 

" I don't know when I have enjoyed myself as 
much as I have this last half-hour," he went on. " It 
has done my heart good to watch such cheerful in- 
dustry. Not a moment has been lost since we were 
driven in here by the wind and rain. Idlers would 
have slept or gossiped till the storm had passed, but 
we, my friends, it appears, improve each cloudy as 
well as each shiny hour. The Wasp prepared for 
the building of the nest from which the dear young 
Wasplings are to take their first peep at life. The 
Bee gathered honey, and now only waits the sun- 
shine to carry it to the hive. The liny Midge scarce 
paused in the practicing of her steps, and when she 
did pause, it was to seek for useful knowledge. Now. 
all this is very, very pleasant, to be sure, and with 
what satisfaction we can all fly to the flower-garden 
again when the shower is over. Ah ! there is a 
sunbeam. Let us go, happy in the thought that 
we have not wasted one precious minute while 
obliged to tarry here." 

" ' We,' " repeated the Honey-Bee, with a scorn- 
ful hum. 

" Who is he ? " whispered the Wasp. 

" He never did an hour's work in his life," said 
the Bee, indignantly. " He has always been taken 
care of by the other bees. He 's eaten our honey 
and never helped us make it. He was driven from 
our house this very morning because we found it 
impossible to stand him any longer." 

" But who is he ? " again asked the Wasp. 

"The biggest drone in the hive," answered the 
Bee, as she flew away. 


By Celia Thaxter. 

Ix the dark, dull day, through Zurich Town 
Glided the train from the station out, 

The while from the window, up and down. 
An eager traveler peered about. 

Red-tiled roofs with their gables quaint. 
Misty mountains, all dim and gray, 

Glimpse of the lake's rare color faint. 
Came and went as we steamed away. 

Under the eaves at a casement queer, 
Swung like a door, was a pleasant sight. 

For a little Swiss maid, fair and dear. 

Was scrubbing the small panes smooth and bright. 

And with what purpose and cheer scrubbed she. 
Turning the window this way and that, 

Pushing it backward and fonvard, to see. 
As perched on the low, broad sill she sat. 

Little she knew, as, with such a will. • 
Toiling she put forth her cheerful might. 

How a stranger admired her homely skill. 

And her pretty self, as she passed from sight. 

Now, when I remember quaint Zurich town. 
There comes, like a picture before my eyes, 

With her yellow hair and her homespun gown. 
That little maid and her labor wise. 

And, somehow, I think she will keep as clear 
The window whence her soul must see 

Life's various weather for many a year. 

And watch with patience what there may be. 

And if only the glass of the mind is clear, 
She will see it is Light that casts the shade, 

And pain less bitter, and joy more keen 
Bv her cheerful spirit be surelv made. 




By Helen Gray Cone. 



1 1 



The wild young kitten aroused the cat, 

As dozing at ease in the path she sat. 

Oh, Mother! " he cried, " I have just now seen 

A flower that suggested ah Orient queen ! 

'T is yonder by the nasturtion-vine — 

Barbaric and tropic and leonine — 

(I am not quite clear what these terms may mean, 

But they 've something to do with the flower I Ye seen!) 

And the aim in life of a high-souled cat 

Is to gaze forever on flowers like that ! " 

To the wild young kitten replied the cat, 
As blinking her eyes in the sun she sat: . 

" I should hope I had known how sunflowers grow, 
I — could n't — count — how — many years ago! 
But they never caused in my well-poised mind 
Ideas of a dubious, dangerous kind ! 
And your time henceforth — it 's your Ma's advice — 
Will be spent in maturing your views on Mice ! " 




The wild young puppy disturbed the pug, 
As she drowsed in peace on the Persian rug. 
" Oh, Mother! " he cried, "I have just now seen 
A plume that suggested a rainbow's sheen ! 
With a gorgeous eye of a dye divine, — 
Blue-green, iridescent, and berylline — 
(1 am not quite clear what these terms may mean, 
But they 'vc something to do with the thing I 've seen !) 
And the only joy of a cultured pug 
Is to gaze on such in a graceful jug ! " 

To the wild young puppy replied the pug, 
Composing herself on the Persian rug: 
" 1 would blush with shame through my dusky tan 
If I raved at a piece of a peacock fan ! 
'T would never have raised in my sober mind 
Ideas of a doubtful, delirious kind ! 
1 will see that henceforth your attention goes 
To perfecting the snub of your small black nose ! " 





By J. T. Trowbridge. 

Chapter XIX. 

Kit was by this time well on his way to Peace- 
ville ; and two hours later he might have been 
seen walking rapidly into the village, with his coat 
on his arm. 

He was not on the road by which he had either 
entered or left Peaceville the day before, and on 
overtaking a little, bent old man, he inquired the 
way to the fair-grounds. 

" The second turn to the left brings you in sight 
of the big ox-yoke," said the little, bent old man, 
whose gait was slow, and who was very deaf. 

Kit hurried on, shifting the coat he carried from 
one tired arm to the other, and was just turn- 
ing the corner indicated, when the little old man, 
now some distance in the rear, called to him. 

" What is it ? " cried Kit, turning and gazing. 

The little old man made an odd gesture, and 
came trudging on, with his head down again, at 
a snail's pace, as it seemed to the hurrying 

" What do you want ? " called the boy again, at 
the top of his voice. 

But the little, bent old man neither answered 
nor looked up ; he probably did not hear. 

" He thinks 1 may take the wrong turn." 
thought the boy. " But 1 can't wait for him to 
come up, and I have n't time to go back." 

When the little, bent old man did finally look 
up, he was surprised to find that the boy had 

" Could n't he wait a minute ? " he said, clinch- 
ing his right hand and shaking it emphatically, 
while leaning with his left on a stout cane. " Well ! 
it is of no consequence. I suppose." 

Anxious, and not very hopeful, Kit came in 
sight of the great ox-yoke over the fair-ground 
entrance, which he seemed to have seen in some 
past stage of existence, — so long ago, and so like 
a dream, appeared his unlucky adventures of the 
day before. Had he really encountered Branlow 
and discovered Dandy Jim within that thronged 
inclosure ? 

He had, of course, no expectation of finding 
them there now : and remembering how he had 
let them slip through his hands when every cir- 
cumstance was in his favor, he thought of his 
present quest as something very discouraging in- 

The same gate-keeper of whom he had made 

inquiries the day before was again on duty. He 
regarded Kit with no little surprise. 

'• Why ! " said he, with lively interest, " you are 
the boy in the white cap who rode away on the 
Duckford horse last evening ! " 

" I 'm the very boy," said Kit, putting on his 
coat. "And 1 want to find Mr. Knowles, the 

" That will suit all 'round," said the gate-keeper; 
"for I Ye no doubt Mr. Knowles will be glad to 
findyoi/. Knowles ! " he called out. 

The same officer whose acquaintance Kit had 
made the previous afternoon turned away from 
the race-course, around which the same trotters 
Kit had then seen (or so it seemed to him) were 
raising the same cloud of dust. Mr. Knowles lei- 
surely approached the entrance, but he quickened 
his pace on seeing Kit, whom he likewise regarded 
with surprised curiosity. 

" Where did you pick him up?" he said to the 
gate-keeper ; and, quickly stepping forward, he 
seized Kit by the arm. 

" He asked for you," said the gate-keeper. 

"Asked for me? Well, what do you want of 
me, young man ? " 

Aware that he was viewed with suspicion, Kit, 
though prepared for the occasion, changed color, 
and stammered out : 

" I want — I am after — that horse ! " 

' • What horse ? The one you stole, or the one 
you pretended was stolen, or some other ? " added 
the officer. 

" The one that was stolen " began Kit. 

" Well, I think you can tell us more about that 
than anybody else can ! Do you know ? " said 
Mr. Knowles, scrutinizing him sharply, " I have 
instructions to arrest you ? You act as if you 
were n't aware of the fact, but you 're the boy that 
took the Benting horse, as sure as you live ! " 

" Yes, I am," said Kit. He smiled, congratu- 
lating himself on his foresight in providing proof 
of his innocence for this very emergency. " I took 
the wrong horse by mistake — as you will see, 
as I will show you." He fumbled in his pockets. 
" I have a paper — somewhere " 

His fumbling became hurried and nervous, and 
he suddenly turned pale. 

" Now what 's your game ? " said the wondering 

" I have a paper," poor Kit repeated, in accents 
of alarm and distress— "or I had it — one that 




Mr. Bcnting gave mc." He pulled his pockets 
inside out and stared at them in blank dismay, 
exclaiming, "I 'vc lost it ! " 

"What sort of a paper was it ? " Mr. Knowles 

'• A sort of certificate," replied Kit, "saying 
that I had returned the horse which 1 had taken 
by mistake. Mr. Benting gave it to me, so that I 
should n't get into trouble on that account while 
trying again to find my uncle's horse." 

The officer smiled incredulously. " You 're a 
very sharp boy," he said, "but not quite sharp 
enough. I saw through your tricks yesterday, 
when it was a little too late ; but I think I see 
through this one just in time. There are no more 
horses for you to ride away by mistake at this cattle 
show, and you may as well come along with me." 

" Do you think." cried the astonished Chris- 
topher, " that if I had stolen a horse here yesterday 
1 should be back here inquiring for you to-day ? " 

"I should n't suppose so," replied the officer; 
"but you seem to have done that very thing. 
Though why you should ask for me — a police- 
man — is a riddle I can't guess." 

" It was because you are a policeman, and I 
wished to show you that paper and get your 
help," protested Christopher. "The Benting 
boys said you could tell me if anything had been 
heard of the man who sold the other horse, — my 
uncle's horse, — the horse I am looking for ; and 
that perhaps you would know the man who bought 
it. I thought you might at least direct me to the 
grocery where the bill of sale was made out. " 

"I can do that," said Knowles, "when I 'm 
satisfied you are telling me the truth. But what 
were you telling me yesterday? " 

" The truth," declared Christopher. 

" It did n't appear so," said the unbelieving 
officer. " If ever I was satisfied of anything, it 
was that you and the rogue you are inquiring 
for were accomplices. He and you had been seen 
together, to all appearances on friendly terms ; 
and I have positive evidence that he helped you 
to ride away with the Benting horse." 

" He did," said Kit, once more trying to ex- 
plain the complication to unbelieving ears. Again 
he searched his pockets and exclaimed, almost cry- 
ing with vexation, " Oh, if I only had that paper ! 
I am the most careless boy ! " 

" See here, my fine fellow ! " remarked the 
astute officer, " I don't take much stock in that 
paper ; and I believe it 's my duty to hold you in 

By this time a small crowd had gathered about 
them. Just as Knowles was marching his prisoner 
off, up trudged the little, bent old man. 

" Here, young man," he said ; " is this yours?" 

And his trembling fingers relaxed and disclosed 
a crumpled paper, which Kit snatched at eagerly. 

" That 's mine ! that 's it ! " he exclaimed 

" Where did you find it, Mr. Graves ? " asked the 
policeman, in a loud voice adapted to deaf ears. 

" Back in the street, here," said the little old 
man. " I thought it dropped out of this boy's 
coat, which he had on his arm ; and 1 called to him, 
but he did n't seem to know what he had lost. 
After I reached home, I put on my glasses and read 
it, and thinking it might be important, I followed 
him up here." 

" You have done me a great favor, and 1 can't 
thank 5011 enough for it ! " said Kit with fervent 

He handed the paper to the policeman, who read 
as follows : 

" 'To all whom it may concern : 

" 'This is to certify that the bearer, Christopher 
Downimede, of East Adam, who took my horse from 
the Peaceville Fair Ground yesterday, mistaking 
it for one belonging to his uncle, has returned it 
tome this day in good condition, with a satisfactory 
explanation of the circumstances. And I hereby 
cordially commend him to all good citizens gen- 
erally, and especially to Mr. Knowles, the officer 
on duty at the cattle show, who I am mre will be 
serving a good cause by assisting him in his search 
for his uncle's missing horse. 

" ' David Benting, of Duclford.' 

" This puts a new face on the matter," said the 
policeman. " It is lucky for you, my boy, that this 
paper turned up in time ! " 

" As I carried my coat over my arm," Kit ex- 
plained, " the opening of the pocket hung down : 
I never thought of what was in it. I am one of 
those boys," he added, with a cheerful gleam over- 
spreading his troubled face, " who can never think 
of more than one thing at a time ! " 

" There 's no great harm done in this case, 
thanks to Mr. Graves, here," said the officer ; 
" though if it had not been for him, I rather think 
I should have had to lock you up till the Bentings 
could be sent for, in spite of your plausible story 
and honest face. Now let 's see what can be done 
for you." 

Chapter XX. 

" 1 WANT to find my uncle's horse. — that 's the 
principal thing," said Christopher. " At the same 
time I should like to see the rogue caught who 
stole him." And he repeated what the Benting 
bovs had told him. 




'• I 'm afraid I can't tell you much more," said 
Mr. Knowles ; " except that the horse you say be- 
longs to your uncle was sold to a man in South- 
mere ; I forget his name — Baggage, Bradish, or 
something of that sort. The rogue slipped away 
before we came to the conclusion that he was a 
rogue — slipped away with an honest man's money, 
it seems." 

"I was afraid of that," said Christopher. "Who 
is this Mr. Baggage, or Bradish?" 

" Or Bradger ; that 's more like it," rejoined the 
officer. "All I know of him is that he 's a farmer 

The little old man nodded and started off. Kit 
turned to thank the policeman for his kindness. 

" That 's all right," said Knowles; " though it 
might have been all wrong if it had n't been for 
that paper, which I advise you not to lose a second 
time, for 1 'm not the only officer furnished with 
your description and instructions to arrest you." 

"That 's a pleasant thing to know," laughed 
Kit, rather uncomfortably, as he felt for the paper 
in his pocket. " But I think I can take care of 
myself now." 

He left the separating crowd at the gate, and, 

over in Southmerc ; and, from what I can hear, 
he 's about as thick-set and stiff-necked and unac- 
commodating an old codger as any you '11 be apt 
to run against. They can tell you more about him 
at Hines's grocery, where the bill of sale was made 

"That 's just the place I want to find ! " said 

" Mr. Graves is going within a stone's-throw of 
it. Mr. Graves ! " The officer lowered his face 
and raised his voice, shouting in the ear of the 
little old gentleman: "Will you show this boy 
Hines's grocery? " 


guided by Mr. Graves, soon found himself at the 
door of Hines's grocery. Again thanking the 
little old man for the very great favor he had done 
him, he took leave of him at the door, and entered 
the grocery with an anxious heart. He felt certain 
that he was once more on the track of Dandy Jim, 
which horse any but the most blundering boy in 
the world might now reasonably expect to find. 

" Is Mr. Hines in ? " he asked of a smooth-faced 
man behind the counter. 

"That 's my name," the smooth-faced man re- 

Kit drew a quick breath and continued: 

i88 5 .] 



" Mr. Knowles, the policeman, directed me to 
you, Mr. Hines." Mr. Hines bowed. " I wish to 
make some inquiries about two men who came 
here last night " 

"Oh, yes! I know!" interrupted the grocer, 
with a smile. " That horse business. You 're 
not the first person who has come to inquire." 

" Excuse me for troubling you further," said Kit ; 
and he proceeded to explain the object of his visit. 

" I think you will have little difficulty in find- 
ing your horse," said Mr. Hines. The boy's heart 
bounded exultantly. " But as to getting it — 
that 's another thing." 

" You know the man who bought it — Mr. 
Baggage, or Braggage ? " queried Kit. 

"Badger is his name; Eli Badger of South- 
mere," replied the grocer. " I know him very 
well ; and I forewarn you that you wont find him 
a very pleasant customer to deal with." 

" But if I can show that he has a horse that 
rightfully belongs to my uncle " began Kit. 

" If you can prove that, you can eventually re- 
cover your uncle's property, no doubt. I should n't 
like to say that Badger is a man who would buy 
a horse, knowing it to be stolen ; but having one 
in his possession, and having paid for it — well," 
laughed Mr. Hines, " all I can say is, I should like 
to see the boy of your size who could take that 
horse away from Eli Badger of Southmere ! " 

" It will do no harm to try," replied Kit. " At 
any rate, it will be a point gained to find the horse 
in his possession. You speak as if you did not 
consider him a very just man." 

" He may be a just man in his way," said Mr. 
Hines. " But of all the grasping, grudging, cross- 
grained people that I ever had any dealings with, 
Eli Badger of Southmere is the worst. I pity you, 
youngster, if you expect to get a horse away from 
him ! " 

" If I can't, may be somebody else can," said 
Kit, with a troubled yet resolute face. "About 
how far is it to the place where he lives ? " 

"It 's a good six miles to Southmere village, 
and he lives somewhere beyond that," answered 
Mr. Hines. " He has a small farm, and raises a 
great quantity of grapes." 

" I must try to get there to-night," said Kit, 
with an anxious glance at the grocer's clock. 
" But first I should like to ask about the man 
who sold him the horse." 

Having received a very good description of his 
friend Cassius Branlow. he went out to make further 
inquiries concerning that uncertain individual, at 
the Peaceville stove-stores. 

Branlow's story of his being employed in one 
of them turned out, naturally, to be a little fiction 
devised for hoodwinking poor Kit, who found no 
VOL. XII. — 38. 

Peaceville dealer in hardware or tinware who had 
ever heard of the itinerant tinker. 

Having spent more time and strength than he 
could well afford in making these fruitless inquiries, 
Kit set off at last, footsore and weary, on the road 
to Southmere. 

Late in the afternoon he entered the village, glad 
to know that the man he was in search of and, 
probably, the horse, also, were now not far off. Eli 
Badger was well known to several persons of whom 
he had latterly inquired the way ; and each had 
added a stroke to the not very agreeable portrait 
that Mr. Hines had so broadly outlined. 

"Not a very obliging man," one had said, in 
reply to Kit's questioning. 

"Grouty," said another. 

" Obstinate as a pig," declared a third. 

Kit was not at all ambitious to encounter the 
original of this picture ; but the now almost abso- 
lute certainty of discovering Dandy Jim cheered 
him on. 

At dusk, the boy in the base-ball cap that had 
once been white, but which was beginning to show 
the effects of travel on dusty roads, paused doubt- 
fully on a corner and looked about. Kit was tired, 
toil-stained, and hungry. He saw a man coming 
out of a summer restaurant, and accosted him. 

"How far is it to Eli Badger's place?" he in- 

"Badger? Eli Badger?" The man pointed. 
" He lives about a mile away, on this road." 

Kit gave a weary sigh, and remembered wist- 
fully the invitation Mr. Benting had given him to 
visit the family on his return. 

"And Duckford," he said; "how far is it to 

"To Duckford Centre" — the man pointed in 
another direction — "is about five miles." 

Kit stood a moment longer in painful hesitation. 
What was the use of his going farther that night ? 
It was not likely that he could even get a sight of 
Dandy Jim before morning. To make any at- 
tempt to gain possession of him before then, or to 
give notice of his uncle's claim on the horse, might 
prove a fatal blunder; and Kit was resolved to 
avoid blunders in the future. 

" I wish Duckford were n't quite so faraway," he 
said to himself. " I might go over to Maple Park, 
and perhaps get Mr. Benting to help me about 
Dandy in the morning." 

And before the mind's eye of the harassed and 
lonesome boy arose the bright image of a young girl 
who had befriended him when he most needed a 

"If I only had Dandy to ride 

if I could 

hop on a wagon going in that direction ! " he said 
to himself, as he cast longing eyes up the dim 



[J ONE, 

Duckford road. Then he added, " I might walk 
it ! " But he dismissed that notion quickly from 
his mind, and entered the restaurant to rest his 
lame feet and tired limbs, and study the situation 
over a clam chowder. 

•'1 '11 not do anything again in a hurry, nor 
anything particularly foolish, if I can help it," he 
said to himself, as he sat down and waited for his 

It was a great satisfaction to feel that he had 
traced Dandy to the hands of a responsible farmer. 

" It must be Dandy, and no mistake," he rea- 
soned, recalling all the evidence he had obtained 
regarding Branlow's trade, and the descriptions of 
the horse Eli Badger had received of him and led 
away. "I 'm sorry for the man who has been 
swindled out of his money ; but he might have 
known there was something wrong about a horse 
that was offered at so cheap a price." 

The chowder came, and while he was cooling it 
he perceived by the sound of voices that three or 
four persons were entering the next box. They 
laughed boisterously, and gave their orders in a 
manner that enabled him to label them in a word — 

" Roughs ! " 

There was only a low partition between the 
boxes ; and from the open space above he could 
hear much of their conversation, even when they 
suited their tones to the discussion of a business 
which demanded privacy. That business he was 
also soon enabled to characterize by a single 
word — 

" Roguery ! " 

He sipped his chowder, and pondered his own 
plans, giving little heed to what was going on in 
the adjacent box, until his attention was arrested 
by a distinctly pronounced name — 

"Eli Badger! " 

Then Kit pricked up his ears. 

" You and Mack must be on the spot," one was 
saying, " ready to give us the signal. If everything 
is all right, we '11 stop our team at the corner of 
the lane on this side." 

" At half-past ten," said another. 

" That 's too early, — hey, boys?" suggested a 

" We '11 know by the way things look," was the 
reply. " If the lights in the house are out at half- 
past nine, half-past ten will be late enough ; 
they '11 all be asleep by that time. Badger 
would n't spend money to keep a dog, and we 
shall make precious little noise." 

" It 's just the night for it," said one of the 
other speakers. " The moon '11 be well up by that 
time. You can't do such a job in any kind of shape 
without a moon." 

" If nothing happens, we '11 strike a bonanza 

to-night," was the rejoinder. " I went by there 
to-day, and the trellises were jest black with 

Then another: "He's leaving 'em as long as 
he dares to, but he wont resk 'em many nights 
more for fear of frost. They 're ripe enough foi us, 
anyhow. It 's to-night or never." 

" .Mostly Concords ? " asked one. 

"Concords and Delawares," said another. "We 
'11 go for the Concords. They 're easy to handle ; 
bigger clusters ; you can pick two bushels of Con- 
cords while you 're picking one of Delawares." 

" Take both kinds," was the chuckling re- 
sponse. " All we can get, or our team can carry; 
that 's my principle." 

" Don't talk so loud, boys ! " said a more cau- 
tious whisper; "somebody '11 hear us." 

"Oh, nobody's nigh," replied another sup- 
pressed voice, the owner of which put his head 
out of the box and gave a wary glance about the 

" But half-past ten is too early," one of the 
conspirators insisted. " Folks may be going by." 

Eleven was finally agreed upon. Then followed 
a discussion of the way the booty was to be dis- 
posed of, and other details of the enterprise, in the 
midst of which, without waiting to hear any further 
particulars, Kit slipped out of his box, paid for his 
chowder, and left the place. 

Chapter XXI. 

He had about made up his mind to spend the 
night in the village and go on to Badger's farm in 
the morning. But now he said to himself: 

" Those scamps mean to rob his grape-vines to- 
night. That '11 make him anything but a good- 
natured man to-morrow. I wish I could manage 
somehow to let him know of their little scheme." 

How thankful he himself would have been for 
information which might have prevented the steal- 
ing of his uncle's horse ! He thought of that, and 
resolved that in this case he would do as he would 
be done by. 

"I '11 go on and tell him myself. That will make 
an excuse for calling on him. Then I will do what 
seems best about speaking of Dandy." 

It can not be denied that in this affair Kit's mo- 
tives were mixed, as are the motives of most of us. 
Christopher Downimede did not by any means 
forget his own interests when he resolved to do Eli 
Badger a favor. And yet, with his strong love of 
justice, he felt an unselfish desire to see even the 
disobliging Eli protect himself from the depreda- 
tions of unscrupulous marauders. 

He made inquiries of two or three persons on 



the road for Badger's place, and was told that he 
would know it by the grape-vine trellises between 
the lane and the house. 

It was a gloomy, anxious walk, after the fatigues 
of the last two days. Evening had come on, and 
the moon had not yet risen. There were few houses 
on that dreary road. The fields were lonely and 
open ; the still stars looked down upon him ; noc- 


turnal insects trilled in the wayside alders and wild 
cherries, the outlines of which were dimly defined 
against the western horizon. 

He thought of his mother in that weary walk, 
and felt sure that she was thinking anxiously of 
him. Had she yet heard of his strange and ridic- 
ulous blunder in bringing home the wrong horse? 
Or was she even then waiting for him to come 
dashing in, — as he often did in the evening, — and 
tell her the whole story of his triumph in finding 
Dandy at the fair the day before ? 

" I '11 make it a real triumph before I am 
through," thought he, as he trudged on. "And 
Uncle and Aunt Gray — were they talking of him 
and his amazing heedlessness at that moment? 
And the Bentings ! " 

" If I get Dandy," he said to himself, " I '11 ride 
him over to Maple Park bareback after the saddle." 
And his bashful, boyish heart thrilled at the an- 
ticipation of meeting 
a certain pair of sym- 
pathetic blue eyes. 

His mind was re- 
called from its wan- 
derings by the ap- 
pearance of a house, 
set well back from 
the road. 

" This must be Eli 
Badger's," he reflect- 
ed. " Here is the 
lane, and the corner 
where those grape- 
thieves talked of 
stopping their horse ; 
over there must be 
the trellises." But 
looking down upon 
them from the road, 
which was somewhat 
above the level of 
the garden, he could 
not make them out 
in the darkness. He 
had the idea fixed in 
his mind, from a de- 
scription of the place 
some one had given 
him, that the lane 
formed the principal 
approach to the prem- 
ises. It was open, 
and he walked into 
it, having no doubt 
that it would take 
him to the house, 
toward which he was 
drawn by two dimly lighted windows. He soon 
found, however, that he was leaving them on his 

He supposed there must be a gate somewhere, 
which he had failed to find : and he walked back a 
little way, exploring the lane in search of it. But. 
as he could discover neither gate nor bars, he 
concluded to simplify matters by climbing the 
fence and crossing the yard to the house, which 
seemed very near. 

He climbed over and was advancing carefully, 




when an obstacle rose before him like another fence. 
This time it was a rather high obstacle ; a grape- 
trellis, in fact. He was not sorry to make the dis- 
covery, for he was beginning to fear that he had 
mistaken another place for Badger's. 

" Here are more trellises ! " he said to himself; 
and he was groping to find a way around them, 
when a rustling noise caused him to stop in some 

The gloom and strangeness of the place had 
excited his boyish imagination, and he was pre- 
pared for a good fright, when a dark object, in the 
direction of the noise, came out from the shadow 
of the heavily draped frames, and advanced toward 

Not knowing whether it was man or beast, he 
recoiled instinctively and scrambled to the fence. 
Immediately the rustle became a rush, and with an 
appalling tramp of heavy feet, the creature plunged 
after him. 

It was no beast, — perhaps the assertion should 

be qualified by saying it was no dumb beast, — but 
broad-backed Eli Badger himself, who was out 
there, with a stout hickory stick, keeping guard 
over his vineyard. Vengeance for the misdeeds 
of many plundering youngsters animated the keen 
and watchful eyes, the heavily plunging legs, and 
the arm upraised to strike. 

The arm descended, and the cudgel with it, just 
as poor Kit was climbing the fence. 

Thwack ! whack ! crack ! First a blow on the 
boy's back, then on his shoulder, then on that la- 
mentably slight protection to his skull, the closely 
fitting base-ball cap ; and a dark body, dreadfully 
limp and silent, fell prone at Eli Badger's feet. 

It was the blundering Christopher, who, with 
scarcely an outcry, had fallen at the third stroke ; 
the case in which he carried those unlucky brains 
of his having proved no match for the Badger arm 
and club. 

" I 've done for him, sure as smoke ! " said Eli, 
stooping to lift the limp form of the boy. 

(To be continued.) 


By Alfred Trumble. 

OT very many 
years ago, there 
lived a little In- 
dian girlnamed 
Momo. Her 
home was many 
hundreds of 
miles from New 
York, in a land 
where the win- 
ter-time comes 
when our sum- 
mer does, and 
where, when it does come, it rains instead of snows. 
At such times Momo would sit the whole day long 
in the door-way of her father's house, listening to 
the wailing of the wind and the roaring of the river 
as it tore great cavities in its banks, and brought tall 
trees tumbling headlong down to be swept away to 
the sea. She dared not venture out. She was so lit- 
tle, and the rain and wind were so strong that, if she 
had trusted herself to them, she too would probably 
have been swept away to the ocean, like a bruised 

and battered leaf on the fierce tide. It was a dismal 
time for poor Momo, this rainy season, as it is called. 
Little by little the rain would eat its way through 
the thatch of palm branches that made a roof for 
the house, until the whole place was afloat and 
she could no more sleep in her little hammock than 
you could under a shower-bath. Then the store 
of bananas and of plantains, of parched corn, and 
of meat cut in long strips and dried in the sun, 
would give out, and they all would be hungry. 
Mauarri (that was the name of Momo's father) 
would then carry his old gun, with its barrel nearly 
as tall as himself, out into the storm ; but more 
usually he would bring nothing back but himself 
and his long gun, for even the beasts and birds had 
hidden from the tempest. 

But when it was not raining in Momo's country, 
it was very beautiful. The grass grew long and 
green, and the wind, as it rustled through the sway- 
ing blades, sang softly, like a nurse hushing the 
baby to sleep. Overhead the palm branches 
clashed like warriors' spears, and birds of gorgeous 
plumage uttered strange calls. Momo used to fancy 



they were speaking to her, and she had invented 
quite a language of her own in which to answer 
them. Sometimes she sat for hours on the high 
bank of the river, which now went softly by, blaz- 
ing in the sunlight like a stream of molten gold, 
and she would chatter till the noisy paroquets 
cocked their wise little heads to listen, and the 
timid humming-bird buzzed like a big bee so close 
to her harmless hand, that she might have grasped 
it if she wished. 

Not that she did wish, for she had never willfully 
harmed a living thing. In this lonely place, with 
the great mountains all about, and her father away 
hunting the whole day long, while her mother 
hoed the corn-patch or searched for bananas in the 
canebrakes by the river, these busy creatures were 
the little girl's only companions, and she loved 
them. Even the iguanas, the great, fierce-looking 
lizards, with their spiny backs and snake-like tails, 
that were green in the grass and turned brown in 
the forest, feared her so little that they only blinked 
a sleepy eye when she passed them as they basked 
in the sun. The beetles drummed and the crick- 
ets chirped drowsily in the hot air, and paid no 
heed to her, as if they knew or had been told that 
she would not harm them. But most of all, she 
loved the butterflies. 

There were legions of them about Momo's house, 
of all colors, forms, and sizes. Sometimes they 
made the air fairly glorious with their flitting tints, 
like the changing colors of a kaleidoscope. They 
came and went in unexpected fashions. Some 
days only white or yellow ones would be seen. 
Again, noble big fellows from the forest would ap- 
pear, blazing with all the colors imaginable. And 
out of their coming and going, and all their in- 
explicable changes, an odd fancy brightened in the 
poor little Indian girl's mind. 

She had never heard of fairies, but her father 
feared an evil spirit, a somber fiend that he be- 
lieved went abroad in the darkness and the storm. 
At night, when a loon flew by, uttering its dismal 
call, Mawarri would waken with a start and say 
that Ukobo, the evil spirit, was on his wanderings. 
Now, the butterflies were bright and loved the sun. 
They made no melancholy noises. They had often 
brushed Momo's face and harmed her not, while 
the evil spirit, she was told, caught and devoured 
people. So Momo came to look upon the butter- 
flies as good spirits, and in secret she begged 
them to be always kind and loving to her, as she 
would be to them. This supplication of a barbaric 
child became in time a formal prayer with her. 
And when she found one of her good spirits crushed 
and dead, she would bury it in a pleasant placewhere 

* Pdpillones, the feminine of Papillon, the French for butterfly, 
which the butterfly belongs. 

the sun could reach it, and she would stamp down 
the earth above it to keep the ugly black ants at bay. 

One day, strange people came to Momo's house, 
— not low-voiced, slow-moving, listless, smooth- 
faced people with brown skins, like those who came 
to see her father ; but men so strange that she was 
just a little frightened at them. They had white 
faces, and long shaggy hair and beards. They 
wore coverings on their heads and queer clothing 
on their bodies. They carried guns, and things 
somewhat like guns, but smaller, in leathern belts 
at their waists. They looked thin and tired, and 
one of them was so sick he had to be helped on as 
he walked ; yet all, sick and well, laughed and 
spoke with loud voices in a harsh tongue. They 
had some Indians with them, who carried heavy 
packs. Their canoes in the river were deep-laden, 
too. The Indians spoke to Momo's father, as did 
also one of the strangers, who, the little girl won- 
deringly noticed, could speak her language and that 
of his own people too. Then they made a great 
fire in front of the house, and cooked and ate 
strange things from shining boxes, and drank 
from bottles. Momo picked up one of the boxes 
which had been thrown aside when emptied, and 
the man who had spoken to her father noticed it 
and called to her in her own language : 

"Come here, little one." 

He was a big man, with a great shaggy red 
beard ; but he had bright blue eyes and a pleasant 
voice, and Momo did not fear him. He put his 
arm around her as he sat on the ground, and asked 
her why she had picked up the box. 

"Because it is pretty," she replied. 

He took a great round yellow thing from his 
pocket and showed it to her. " Is n't that pret- 
tier ? " he asked. 

"Oh, no !" said Momo, "it is smaller, and it 
does n't shine." 

They all laughed at something the man said to 
them, and Momo became quite indignant, for she 
felt that they were laughing at her. But the 
stranger held her fast, and the next moment a 
swarm of butterflies came fluttering about her 
head. Most of the men uttered an exclamation of 
admiration. If Momo had understood their lan- 
guage, she would have heard them say : 

"Beautiful! Splendid!" 

" She is a little ' Princess Papillones,' "* said the 
big stranger in the same tongue. " And I must add 
some of her subjects to my collection," he continued. 

" Why not ask her to do it, Professor?" asked 
the sick man. " The butterflies don't seem to fear 
her, and her little hands will not do them half the 
harm our nets will." 

Papilionidse is the scientific name for a class or family of insects to 




" A good 
beard, and, 
language: " 
my little one 

" Oh, no 

idea," replied the man with the red 
turning to Momo, he said in her own 
The butterflies are not afraid of you, 

! " said Momo. 

And while the red-bearded man still held her, 
and she struggled with puny rage to free herself, 
she spoke of her good friends the butterflies, and 
how they watched over and protected her. The 
man's face changed a little as she spoke, and when 
she had finished he let her go. That afternoon, 
when one of his men caught a splendid butterfly 
in a fine net fastened to a staff, the Professor called 
out to him sharply, and the man set the insect at 
iberty again. 

The strangers went away next morning, and 
the Professor called Momo to him, and hung about 

" You could catch them easily, could you 
not ? " he asked. 

"' I never tried to," answered Momo, in 

" Well, I want some of them now, and for 
everyone you bring me you shall have a box like that 
you have in your hand. Do you understand ? " 

Momo did understand, and, with the hot, red 
blood darkening her brown cheeks, she flung the 
box down, angrily, and cried: 

" Let me go ! You must be Ukobo himself, 
but you can have none of my good spirits, — no, 
not one ! " 

her neck by a fine cord the round yellow thing she 
had thought was not as pretty as the box. There 
were plenty of boxes left, too, and Momo gathered 
them about her and sat on the verge of the bluff. 
She watched the boats vanish down the river, 
while the butterflies fluttered about her. The 
man with the red beard waved his hat to her, and 

i88 S .] 



his big canoe rounded the bend, leaving a ripple 
on the water like a rope of gold. 

The rains were on, and Costa Rica, from hill- 
tops to low levels, was swamped. In the drowned 
savannah of the Estrella river-mouth the Sala- 
manca Exploring Expedition was killing time as 
best it could under shelter of the Old Harbor 
Ranche. For a wonder, the storm lifted on the 
afternoon of July 29, 1873. The sun came out 
in a vast blaze of tropical splendor, and the wet 
earth began to smoke as if it were burning incense. 
But the brief glory of the sunlight gilded a scene 
of melancholy ruin on the river bank — the wreck 

of many an Indian village swept away by the up- 
country freshets. Among some tangled grasses a 
portion of a thatched roof rose and fell softly on 
the tide. What first attracted our attention to it 
was a magnificent forest butterfly fluttering about 
it. The Professor sprang forward, eager to secure 
it, and then stopped short with a sudden cry. 

Cradled on the sodden thatch, with a smile on 
her face, was the body of a little Indian girl, with a 
pierced ten-dollar gold piece hung about her neck. 

And the butterfly, broken-winged and rain- 
drenched, still fluttered lamely over the still form. 
One of the subjects she had so bravely protected 
had been loyal to ''Princess Papillones" to the last. 


By Ellen M. H. Gates. 

Look at the butterflies ! Purposeless things. — 
How idly they float on their gossamer wings ! 
Over the poppies and over the grass, 
Light as the down of a thistle they pass. 

Where are they going, and why are they here 
In the heat of the day and the noon of the year ? 
They flutter awhile in the brightness, and then 
They are gone from our sight and they come 
not again. 

But look at the butterflies, — beautiful things, — 
Before us and over us flashing their wings ! 
It may be the Maker who fashioned them thus, 
Has sent the gay creatures on errands to us. 

Perhaps we go slowly, when we should be swift 
To follow the scent of the roses, that drift 
Their pink snow about us ; more oft we might play. 
And vet finish our tasks bv the end of the day. 

And we — we are wearied with fever and frost. Oh, blest are the eyes that are clear to behold 

Whatever we do, it must be at a cost ; The wonderful glow of the butterflies' gold. 

We hear, as we journey, the dropping of tears ; With leisure to follow their flight as they pass 

We bear on our foreheads the stamp of the years. So gracefully, silently, over the grass ! 




By Charles L. Norton. 


Over a fir-crested ridge of the Sierras, the sink- 
ing sun cast long shadows across the level sward 
of a little mountain " park.'' In the edge of the 
timber three or four white tents were pitched, 
while half a dozen mules and horses were grazing 
near by, and a canvas-covered wagon stood at one 
side, within the shelter of the trees. On the green 
grass certain squares were marked in broad, white 

the ridge from the other side and were looking down 
upon the little "park." wondering what it all could 
mean, — the net and the queer, flannel-clad figures 
that flitted about, knocking white balls back and 
forth over the net. and calling to one another 
" fifteen !" " thirty ! " " vantage ! " and so on, 
till darkness compelled them to stop and enter the 
pleasantly lighted tents, all unaware of the bright, 


lines, and across the squares a net was stretched wild eyes that had been curiously watching their 

between two stakes. game. 

It all looked very mysterious to Spotted Crow, The sun wended his way, as is his custom, across 

an Indian brave, and to his two brown-skinned the shining Pacific and was presently looking down 

sons, who, attracted by voices, had stealthily climbed upon a very different scene in far-off Japan. Two 

i88 5 .] 


60 1 

native girls in their quaint costumes were taking a 
promenade near a Japanese town. In the distance 
loomed up the snow-clad cone of Fusiyama, the 
sacred mountain. The girls drew near a low house 
with wide verandas, which had a lawn in front ; and 
on the lawn were similar white squares, and just such 

But the sun was well used to this sort of thing. 
There was never a continent that he looked down 
upon as the round earth daily turned its different 
hemispheres upward for his inspection, where he 
did not see tennis nets and hear those familiar cries. 
He knew that the racket and the net were always 


a net as Spotted Crow and his sons had marveled 
at a few hours before, as they peered through the 
tree-tops of the American mountains, six thousand 
miles away. The two Japanese girls stopped and 
looked over the hedge. Some young English folk 
were knocking balls to and fro over the net, and 
crying out, "fifteen!" "forty!" "deuce all!" 
"game!" and the rest, just as their American 
cousins had done on the other side of the wide 

in use somewhere ; that the empire of lawn tennis 
circled the earth quite as completely as does the 
boasted roll of British drums. 

Ages ago the sun had seen the beginnings of 
this game. It is not quite certain whether it was 
on the banks of the Nile or the Ganges, or at 
Nineveh ; but somewhere this same sun saw a group 
of half-naked, bronze-limbed youngsters throw- 
ing balls or dried gourds back and forth, using 
their hands for bats, and doubtless having quite as 




much fun, after a barbarous fashion, as we have 
nowadays with cork-handled Franklin rackets, 
regulation balls, and a set of printed rules. 

Generations rolled by, however, before the pio- 
neers of tennis had themselves carved on stone 
slabs, and still other ages before Gordian III. and 
Marcus Aurelius Antoninus * had coins struck, in 
honor of the Pythian Apollo, bearing devices which 

Edward III. (1365) decided that no one but kings 
and their associates should be allowed to play it at 
all, and his example was followed by Henry IV.. 
Henry VIII., and other reigning sovereigns of 
England and France. It kept gaining in popu- 
larity, however, and some sort of outdoor tennis 
was played with inflated balls very early in the 
history of the game. 

Every little while the royal commands would be 
forgotten, or some convenient war would break 
out, and, after it was over, tennis would "bob 
up serenely," as a very popular amusement. 
Henry VIII. had the tennis fever in a violent 
form, and the most famous royal set ever played 
was that in which Henry VIII. of England and 
the Emperor Charles V. were matched against the 
Prince of Orange and the Marquis of Branden- 
burg, while the Earl of Devonshire "stopped" 
(that is, picked up balls and kept count) for one 
side and Lord Edmund Howard did a like service 
for the other side. The chronicle relates that 
they played " XI " full games, and were " even 
hands " at the close, a statement which has puzzled 


represented athletes serving and returning balls, 
and using their hands as rackets. 

Even at that early day it was found desirable to 
protect the hand by means of gauntlets, but it 
was not until the fourteenth century, so far as can 
be ascertained, that bats or rackets were invented, 
and the game grew into something not altogether 
unlike that which is played to-day. 

The regular tennis court of the middle ages was 
a very elaborate affair, with divisions and galleries 
and railings and " pent-house roofs," and a care- 
fully laid stone pavement, all of which made it a 
very costly game to play, and only kings and the 
richest of the nobility could have tennis courts of 
their own. These courts need not be described 
here, but they were not unlike the lawn courts 
of to-day in size and shape. At first there was a 
line stretched across the middle ; then a fringe was 
added to this line, and by the beginning of the 
last century (a. D. 1700) the net was adopted much 
as at present used. 

The method of counting, too, was not unlike 
that followed in our modern lawn tennis, but it 
was loaded down with rules that must have made 
a mediaeval game quite a good exercise in mental 
arithmetic — forthe marker, atleast — asthe princes 
and lordlings, who alone played tennis in those 
days, did not keep theirown scores, but had attend- 
ants to look after this part of the game for them. 

It was, indeed, a royal game ; so very royal that 


* See a description of the game of tr 

Y;' v/ in 

the critics, who can only infer that the historian 
made a mistake of one in his figures. 

At last, the kings gave up the vain attempt to 

St. Nicholas for February, 1SS4, in the series of " Historic Boys." 

.88 5 .] 



keep so capital a game to themselves, and gra- 
ciously vouchsafed it to their loyal subjects, simply 
because they could no longer prevent their playing. 
Of course, there still remained the difficulties aris- 
ing from the great costliness of regular courts, but 
these could not interfere with out-of-door tennis. 
This was, however, a very unscientific sport, and 
was, of course, despised by the gentry who could 
afford to play the court game. In the illustration 
taken from an old wood-cut, some out-of-door ten- 
nis players are seen in the distance. 

In fact, it was not until a very few years ago 
that the play-loving English public awoke to 
the fact that some one had reduced out-of-door 
tennis to a science ; that something very like court 
tennis could be played on the lawn, under the blue 
sky; and that "pent-house roofs" and galleries, 
railings, tambours, chases, and the rest were relics 
of the dark ages. 

Just about that time, too, England had passed 
through just such a roller-skating fever as we had 
in America last winter. And there were the empty 
rinks all ready to be marked off for tennis, so that 
during the occasional spells of bad weather with 
which our English cousins are afflicted, the game 
could be played under cover. 

A great deal of tennis was played last winter in 
this country in rinks, and armories, and gymna- 
siums, and it is now, no doubt, fairly established 
among indoor winter sports, but the true Court of 
Prince Tennis is the smooth lawn, with its springy 
turf, or, where turf can not be had in full perfec- 
tion, the beach, or such smooth surface as the 
average orchard or home-lot can afford. 

The advantages of the game are that it can be 
played by two, three, or four persons, and keep 
them all on the alert from the word " Play ! " As 
an exercise it may be as gentle or as energetic as 
the player chooses. It is so easily learned that even 
a beginner very soon cherishes hopes of success, 
and yet so worthy of effort that it fascinates the 
finest athletes. Moreover, it is not ruinously costly 
in outfit, and one of its best qualities is that it is 
very entertaining for spectators, who quickly learn 
enough of the game to watch its progress with 
interest, and are not in the least danger from iron- 
hard missiles, as in the case of cricket and base- 
ball. The boy or girl who is an interested spectator 
will presently long to send those fascinating white 
balls flying over the net, and very soon Prince 
Tennis has another courtier in his train. 


THE necessary equipment includes at least four 
balls, a racket for each player, and a net fitted with 
posts and lines so that it can be set up as directed. 

The rackets should be, for the use of an average 
player, of medium size and weight, say, thirteen 
ounces. The balls must be of india-rubber, not 
less than two and fifteen thirty-seconds inches, nor 
more than two and a half inches, in diameter, and 
weigh not less than one and fifteen sixteenths 
ounces, nor more than two ounces ; these being 
the dimensions and weights prescribed by the 
National Lawn Tennis Association. The net is 
three feet wide and thirty-three feet long, with 
meshes of such a size that the ball can not pass 
through. When in position, its lower edge swings 
just clear of the ground in the middle and its upper 
edge is three feet from the ground. At the posts 
the upper edges are three feet six inches from the 


ground. A perfect court is an absolutely level 
lawn of smoothly clipped turf, seventy-eight feet 
long and twenty-seven feet wide ; but by far the 
greater number of courts are somewhat short of 
this perfection. (See diagram on next page.) 

The net is stretched between the posts A and B, 
which are driven into the ground and held firmly 
upright by means of guys, as shown. Parallel with 
it, and thirty-nine feet distant, are drawn the base- 
lines D, E and F, G ; and these, in turn, are con- 
nected by the side-lines D, F and E, G. Midway 
between the side-lines and parallel with them is the 
half-court-line H, I. and on each side of the net, 
parallel with it, and twenty-one feet distant, are the 
service-lines K, L and M, N. The net, it will be seen, 
extends three feet beyond eacli of the side-lines. 

After the court has been accurately laid out 
and small stakes set up for guidance, the lines may 




be marked on the grass with a paint-brush dipped 
in whitewash or marble-dust.* 

Complete directions for playing the game can not 
be attempted here. The rules are published in a 
little pamphlet issued by the Association, and may 
be had of all dealers. Let us suppose, however, that 
the court is complete, and that two players are 
ready to begin a game. They stand on opposite 
sides of the net. The one who delivers the first 
stroke — this having been decided by lot — is 

boundaries of the front court, diagonally opposite 
that from which the service is delivered. Should 
he not succeed in his first attempt, it is called a 
" fault," and he is allowed another trial. A second 
failure scores in favor of his opponent. Should 
the ball when in service strike the net in going 
over, it is called a "let." Such a ball may not be 
returned, and the server is allowed another trial. 
But after a ball is "in play," its touching the net 
does not constitute a " let." 

39 Feet 

39 Feet. 

1 3 






13 Ft. S3 




% I Ft. 







O m 

21 Ft. £: 

C O U RT. 


18 Ft. 




called the "server," and the other, the "striker- 
out." The server stands with one foot outside 
the base-line of the right-hand court, and the other 
foot upon or within that line. When all is ready, 
he strikes the ball with the racket, aiming to send 
it over the net and have it take ground within the 


The striker-out lets the ball take the ground 
before attempting to return it across the net. 
On its first rebound, he gives it a return strike 
with his racket, aiming to send it over the net 
somewhere within the side and base-lines of 
the court, and then the ball is " in play." A 
"liner," or ball striking one of the white lines, 
is considered as within the court bounded by 
that line. 

These limitations as to the first rebound only 
apply to the first stroke of the server-out. After 
that has been delivered, the ball may be "vol- 
leyed," — that is, struck on the "fly," — or 
"half-volleyed" — taken at the first bound, — and 
the return is a fair one if the ball strikes the ground 
anywhere within the side and base-lines of the serv- 
er's court. 

In like manner the server makes his return, and 
so the ball flies to and fro over the net until one of 

* A very excellent marking-machine may be had of the dealers, or a very satisfactory stencil-board may be made by nailing cleats across 
two light boards so as to leave a space of about two inches between their straight edges. These are then laid on the ground and the 
whitewash sprinkled between them, the stencil-board being raised and moved along from place to place until the lines are completed. 

i88 S .J 


60 : 

the players misses it or makes a "fault," which 
consists in failing to return the ball into the oppo- 
site court, whereupon the other player scores 
" ace " — that is, fifteen. 

The server now changes to the base-line of his 
own left court, and serves the ball as before, but 
into the left front court of the striker-out. The 
next stroke, if won by the previous winner, raises his 
score to thirty, the next to forty, and the fourth is 
"game." But the other player may have won 
sundry strokes, and the two may have forty at 
the same time. The score in such case stands, 
"deuce all." The next stroke won scores "vant- 
age" for its player — " vantage in " when in favor 
of the server, " vantage out " when in favor of the 
striker-out ; but if the next falls to his opponent 
the score returns to "deuce," and so on, returning 
to "deuce," until one of the players wins two 
strokes in succession. This ends the first game. 

The second is opened by the striker-out of the 
first, who becomes server, and so alternately in the 
successive games. A "set" consists of eleven 
games. Therefore, the player who first scores six 
games wins the set. If both players win five 
games, the score is called " games all," and the 
winner of the next game scores "vantage game." 
If he lose the next game thereafter, the score goes 
back to " games all," and so on until one or the 
other wins two games in succession. 

In three and four-handed tennis the court is of the 
same length (seventy-eight feet), but is thirty-six 
feet wide, and the net should, therefore, be forty- 

two feet long, so as to extend beyond the side-lines, 
as in the case of the smaller court. The dotted 
lines in diagram show the plan of the large court. 

The same general rules of play apply, but with 
a few necessary changes. Suppose, for instance, 
that the four distinguished personages mentioned 
in the famous royal game referred to, were to un- 
dertake a set at modern tennis : Charles V. and 
Henry VIII. against the Prince of Orange and the 
Marquis of Brandenburg. Charles would serve 
the first game ; Orange, the second ; Henry, the 
third, and Brandenburg, the fourth. The two not 
serving or striking-out would act as " fielders," 
watching for unexpected strokes, or trying to make 
good the failures of their respective partners. 

If it were a three-handed set, as, for instance, 
Henry against Orange and Brandenburg, then 
Henry would serve the first game ; Orange, the 
second ; Henry, the third, and Brandenburg, the 
fourth ; Henry, the fifth, and so on. 

There are scores of "tricks and customs" that 
can only be learned by experience. The ball may 
be tossed or sent straight and swift over the net, 
or " cut," that is, given a rotary motion, so that its 
rebound will be at a perplexing angle. Every 
player has individual peculiarities, and almost all 
have some weak point of play which the keen 
server or observer soon finds out. It is impossible 
to describe all these here ; but enough has been 
said to enable any one to begin his tennis practice 
with some understanding of the fine qualities of this 
trulv roval game. 





By Lizzie Chase Deering. 

Two little girls, with checked sun-bonnets on 
their heads and tin pails in their hands, were 
walking along the sidewalk of a certain town in 
Maine. One was named Lizzie Pulsifer, and the 
other Hannah Cooke. Lizzie was eight years old ; 
so was Hannah. I would mention the name of 
the town, but they are both women now, with 
little girls of their own, and they might not like to 
be laughed at. Did I tell you it was a spring morn- 
ing? Well, it was in early May. When they 
reached Fred Starke's house, Fred, who was out in 
the yard, screamed : 

" Good-morning, girls ! where are you going?" 

"We 're going blueberrying," said Hannah. 

"Ha ! ha ! ha !" was Fred's reply. "I hope you '11 
get your pails full. Blueberrying! Ha! ha! ha!" 

"Well, I think we shall," replied Lizzie. " I know 
where they used to be very thick." 

"You do!" said Fred. "I hope they will be 
thick now. You 'd better go fishing. That 's what 
I 'm going to do." And he turned away, still laugh- 
ing heartily. 

When they left Fred, the girls walked along 
quietly again until they reached the railroad. 

i88 5 .; 



"We shall have to walk along on the track a 
little way," said Hannah ; "but we can watch for 

They walked for some time, stepping from sleeper 
to sleeper, until Lizzie saw smoke in the distance. 
Hannah said it was a train coming, and that they 
must hurry off the track as fast as they could. So, 
long before the train arrived, they had climbed a 
fence and were in a pretty pasture on the edge of 
the woods. 

There they looked around for blueberries. They 
found plenty of lovely pink-and-white arbutus (or, as 
they called them, May-flowers), and great bunches 
of purple violets, and white houstonias with their 
yellow eyes, and ground-nut blossoms ; and on 
bushes which looked, Hannah said, very much like 
blueberry bushes, they found pretty, white, bell- 
shaped flowers, just tinted with pink, but they 
could n't find any blueberries. They picked the 
young checkerberry leaves which were just peep- 
ing out of the ground; and, at last, getting bolder, 
they strayed a little way into the woods and gath- 
ered some lovely ferns. But not a blueberry was 
to be seen. 

" It 's queer," said Hannah. " I wonder where 
the blueberries are. I know this is the place where 
they used to be so thick, 'cause that 's the very 
stump Mother climbed over. She could n't climb 
the fence anywhere else, you know, 'cause 't was so 
high. But we '11 keep on searching." 

Just then the town-clock, in the distance, struck. 
" Oh ! it 's eleven o'clock," exclaimed Hannah, 
who had counted each stroke aloud, "and Mother 
told us to be home at twelve. We shall have to 
start, and we have n't got a single blueberry. 
What do you s'pose made your Aunt Sarah laugh 
so, when I asked her if we could stay till we got our 
pails full?" 

"I don't know," said Lizzie, thoughtfully; "and 
Fred laughed, too, when we told him we were going 
blueberrying. What was lie laughing at ? " 

" Oh ! I don't know, I 'm sure," said Hannah ; 
" he 's always laughing. But I don't care. We 've 
had a good time, any way." 

They climbed the fence again, and found them- 
selves close to the ditch by the side of the railroad. 
The spring rains had filled it with water. They 
could not resist the temptation to take off their 
shoes and stockings and wade in it. They were 
having the best time of all then, when Lizzie 
exclaimed : 

" Hannie, we might catch some fish. See ! 
there 's one. Let's try." 

"We have n't any hooks," objected Hannah. 
" Well, we might hold our pails and catch some" ; 

and Lizzie held hers against the running water, and, 
sure enough, she caught a little one that was com- 
ing down with the current. "Oh, Hannie ! perhaps 
we can get enough to fry for dinner ! " she cried. 

She put her fish up on the bank in a safe place, 
and then she and Hannah went to fishing in good 

It was rather slow work after that; but, when 
Hannah had caught three and Lizzie three, they 
heard the clock striking twelve. 

So, with their bunches of flowers, ferns, and 
checkerberry leaves, and their pails of fish, they 
started for home. Their dresses were draggled 
and spattered with muddy water, and they carried 
their shoes and stockings in their hands. They 
did not dare to take time to put them on, lest the 
fish could not be fried for dinner. 

"How many blueberries have you picked?" 
shouted Fred, who was on the lookout for them. 

"We could n't find the place," said Hannah; 
" so we thought we 'd go fishing, and we 've had 
good luck. Lizzie caught three and I caught three." 

' ' What kind are they ? — trout ? " 

"Yes, I think so," said Hannah, as she lifted 
her pail-cover cautiously, for him to peep in. 

Fred was well acquainted with the different kinds 
of fish in the neighboring streams, but, when he 
saw Hannah's three, he gave a roar of laughter. 

" Oh, my !" he screamed. "Trout! Whatbeau- 
ties ! They '11 do to go with the blueberries you 
did n't get. Oh, dear! that's too rich! Hurry 
home, girls, or you can't get 'em fried for dinner. " 

The girls went on, wondering what pleased Fred 
so much. As Lizzie went up the hill to her uncle's 
house, she thought she heard a loud laugh from 
Hannah's father. As she went in at the back 
door, she met her Uncle James, who was just 
coming out. 

" I never saw such a laughing time as this is ! " 
said Hannah to him, with a rather resentful pout. 
" But I don't care. We 've caught some trout for 
dinner. There are three — one for you, one for 
Aunt Sarah, and a little one for me. It wont take 
long to fry 'em, will it ? " 

" No, I guess not," said Uncle James. " Let 's 
see," and he opened the pail. 

Then he laughed boisterously. 

"Here, Sarah," said he, as soon as he could 
speak, "put on the frying-pan — Lizzie's been 

Aunt Sarah took the pail and looked into it. 

" Polliwogs J '" said she, contemptuously. 

" POLLIWOGS ? " said Lizzie, inquiringly. 

"POLLIWOGS !" said Uncle James, emphat- 




By John R. Coryell. 

The ar- 
madillos are 

the mail-clad warriors of nature ; and 
the most completely armored of the 
whole odd family of armadillos is a beautifully or- 
namented little fellow called by the naturalists 
Tolypentes, and, by the Brazilians, " bolita." 
" Bolita " means "little ball," and the armadillo 
was so named because it has the power of rolling 
itself up into the shape of a ball. Its various 
shields are so arranged that when the bolita rolls 
itself up, it makes a perfect ball of hard shell. 

A traveler in Brazil tells of watching some little 
children at play tossing a large ball, about the size 
of a foot-ball. When they were tired of the game 
they threw the ball on the ground, and to his sur- 
prise it turned into an animal, and ran hastily away. 
It was one of these little armadillos. 

The same traveler says that he has seen these 
animated balls used by a little child in playing with 
a kitten. The game may have annoyed the bolita, 
but it could not have caused it any injury, because 
of the perfect protection afforded by its armor. 

It has need of all the 
protection it can have, 
for it lives in a land where the mis- 
chievous monkey is plentiful. Anybody 
who has seen monkeys teasing each other, 
will be able to gain some idea of the tor- 
ment the slow-witted armadillo must un- 
dergo as it is passed about from one to 
another of a party of monkeys. When 
Tolypentes is set upon by the frolicsome 
monkeys, however, it suddenly curls up, 
and is safe within itself. The baffled tor- 
mentors turn it over and over, looking in 
great astonishment for the tail they know must 
be there. If Tolypentes had any sense of humor 
he would certainly laugh heartily within his shell 
at the chattering, grinning crowd gathered about 

As the bolita, like the other armadillos, burrows 
in the earth, it has forefeet suitable for that work. 
Its toes are armed with long and hard claws, which 
enable it to dig with wonderful quickness. Instead 
of walking upon the flat part of its front feet, the 
bolita walks upon the tips of its toes, and in doing 
so looks comically dainty and mincing. At the 
same time it can move with much more swiftness 
than would be supposed. 

The armadillos live only in South America, and 
are all small in size compared to the gigantic 
armadillo that lived ages ago. The largest now 
living is not more than three feet long, while that of 
former ages was as large as a big dining-table. 




By Walter Learned. 

Five little white heads peeped out of the mold, 
When the dew was damp and the night was cold ; 
And they crowded their way through the soil with pride. 
Hurrah ! We are going to be mushrooms ! " they cried. 

But the sun came up, and the sun shone down, 
And the little white heads were shriveled and brown ; 
Long were their faces, their pride had a fall — 
They were nothing but toad-stools, after all. 

) I 


(A Story /or Girls written by a Girl*) 

By Anna McClure Sholl. 

" Oh, Helen, I have good news for you ! Mother like being an artist, — is there, Helen ? " said Bert, 

has just received a letter from your guardian, and And away he went, whistling, downstairs, 

life says he 's coming to see you on Thursday." Helen, meanwhile, had lapsed into a brown 

Helen looked up from the plaque which she was study, dreaming, and building air-castles, think- 

painting. She did not quite agree with her cousin 
Bert in thinking that he brought good news. She 
had seen her guardian but once, and that was when 
he had left her with her aunt, more than a year 

"What makes you look so frightened?" asked 
Bert. "One would think he was an ogre coming 
to devour you. I '11 tell you, Helen, you might 
offer up that plaque that you are painting as a 
sacrifice to his ogreship ; its beauty would surely 
propitiate him. Oh, how I do love the fragile and 
beauteous sunflower ! " he added, in a lackadaisical 
tone, and in exact imitation of his cousin's manner. 

" Go away, you horrid boy ! " exclaimed Helen. 
" You need n't make fun of my painting ; and sun- 
flowers arc beautiful, even if you don't think so." 

"Dear me ; is that so? Well, there 's nothing 
Vol. XII.— 39, 

ing that some day she would be a great artist and 
paint wonderful pictures. That was her ambition, 
and, as she was rather proud of her artistic tastes, 
she painted away vigorously. 

Her aunt Jane, to whose care she had been left 
by her dead mother, worried a great deal about 
her. Aunt Jane was very practical, and thought 
Helen's ideas about art nonsensical. But as she 
would not force her to do what was distasteful to her, 
the girl was generally left her to her own devices. 

Her boy cousins, however, teased her unmerci- 
fully, especially Bert, the younger, who delighted 
in shocking her. 

" He is really dreadful ! " she said once in con- 
fidence to a girl friend. " He loves onions and 
squashes, and all those horrid things, and he doesn't 
know a pretty thing when he sees it. One night 

See page 634. 




he actually ate eleven biscuit for tea, and then 
boasted of it afterward, as if it were a thing to be 
proud of! " 

Thursday came, and with it Helen's guardian. 
He arrived in the myrning; and by dinner-time, 
Helen, whose reserve had worn off, had told him 
all her ambitions ; that she wished to be a great 
artist, and to study in Europe. Her guardian, 
Mr. Douglas, seemed rather amused than other- 
wise, and at the dinner-table he suddenly turned 
the conversation by asking Helen if she could cook 
and sew, as he thought all girls should first learn 
the household arts. 

Helen did not know what to say. She did not 
know a thing about housekeeping, and rather 
looked down upon it. Her embarrassment was 
further increased by Bert, who was nudging her 
under the table, and fairly choking with fun. 

Mr. Douglas merely added that he would like to 
have a little talk with her on the subject after din- 
ner. Nothing more was said about it during the 
meal ; but Bert, at intervals, would incoherently 
mutter something about sunflowers, which made 
Helen turn very red. 

After dinner, Helen and Mr. Douglas had a 
long talk. He did not disapprove of Helen's tastes, 
but he wished her to first learn that which was 
useful; and he therefore made a proposition which 
nearly took her breath away. 

" I will take you to Europe," he said " and let 
you study art there, on one condition, and that is, 
that the next time I come you will have a dinner 
prepared for me, cooked entirely by yourself. We 
shall let Aunt Jane into the secret, and she will be 
a very good teacher in that branch of the fine arts. 
What do you say, little girl? "he added, with a laugh. 

" But, Mr. Douglas, it is so great a reward for 
so little a task," said Helen. 

"You will not find that it is so little a task 
as you think," was Mr. Douglas's reply. "Re- 
member, everything must be exactly right, even to. 
the seasoning; in the meanwhile, I think that, if 
I were you, I should paint but little, and should 
give my attention to this one thing." 

Helen promised. 

She was eager to begin her lessons, and the next 
day, after Mr. Douglas had gone, she went to work 
in earnest, much to the satisfaction of her aunt. 

Bert and Rob hung about the kitchen, criticis- 
ing her every effort. She did very well, however, 
and under her aunt's tuition she improved rapidly. 

Bert was her greatest drawback ; he would pre- 
tend to help her, and then would do just the oppo- 
site. One day, when the minister was coming to tea, 
her aunt was taken with a severe headache, and the 
cook took sudden leave. So Helen coaxed her 
aunt to let her make the cake. Bert, apparently 

all ardor and devotion, begged to help her, and 
asked her to let him read the recipe for her, while 
she gathered the ingredients together. 

Helen agreed to this, and Bert sat down and read 
off the recipe ; but, oh, deplorable wickedness ! he 
read most of the quantities wrong ! 

The cake was made, and it looked very tempting, 
indeed ; but when it was cut at table, it was found 
to be as hard and as heavy as lead. The poor 
minister had indigestion for weeks, and Bert was 
ignominiously expelled from the kitchen. 

At last, after several months, Helen received a 
letter from Mr. Douglas, saying that he was com- 
ing to spend a day with her, and that he hoped 
his "little girl" would have an excellent dinner 
prepared for him. 

Helen was delighted. She determined to have 
a "course" dinner — soup, fish, a roast and vege- 
tables, and finally dessert, with fruit and coffee. 

She was very busy making her preparations, 
going herself to market, and giving her orders 
with a very important air. 

Meanwhile, Bert was concocting a scheme of his 
own. The affair with the cake had not taught him 
a lesson. The spirit of mischief was strong within 
him. He heard that his cousin was going to pre- 
pare a dinner for her guardian, and his chief desire 
now was to spoil it. Helen had behaved rather 
coolly toward him since the cake episode ; and, as 
he was really fond of her, this did not please him. 
So, before the day appointed for the dinner, he iset 
himself to plan what he would do. " She will be 
so watchful that it will be hard to play the old 
worn-out tricks of putting salt for sugar, or sugar 
for salt, or of having the cream sour, or the butter 
bad. It really is very perplexing," he thought. 
"Ah, I have it ! the clock ; — the clock 's the thing ! 
I '11 set the kitchen clock ahead when she is out of 
the way for a minute, and she '11 be governed by it, 
and never notice the change ; she is so absent- 
minded. Good idea ! I '11 have things overdone 
or underdone, to suit my fancy." 

" I say, Helen ! Would n't you like to have 
me help you ? " said Bert, as he peered through 
the kitchen window, and saw Helen, with flushed 
face, vigorously beating eggs. 

" No, thank you ! Of course not. I am to do this 
all myself; and even if I were n't, I fear I should n't 
let you help me!" — this last with a decided em- 
phasis on the "you." 

Bert said nothing, but turned away, whistling, 
and started as if he were going down-town ; but, 
instead, he stole around the house, and climbed 
upon the roof of a small shed, where he could see 
Helen's every movement, but where she could not 
see him. 

i8s 5 .; 



How important she looked as she bustled around, 
tasting one thing, seasoning another ! — very pretty, 
too, Bert thought, with a big pink gingham apron 
tied up close to her chin, her cheeks flushed, and 
her dark eyes bright with excitement. 

Indeed, he almost relented, as he saw her put the 
meat into the oven, and heard her say, "Now, if 
it only turns out well, I shall be happy." 

The vegetables and the pudding soon followed; 
and now Bert began to watch his chance to run 
in and set the clock ahead. He was beginning to 
think that the time would never come ; but at last 
he saw his cousin drop the cabbage-leaf which she 
was using as a fan, and run down the cellar-stairs. 

" Now 's my chance," he muttered, as he slid 
off the roof, and hurried into the kitchen. It was 
but the work of a moment to put the clock ahead 
twenty-five minutes ; and then, his cousin not 
appearing, he looked around to see what else he 
could do. A box of what looked like cayenne 
pepper stood on the table, and he hastily emptied 
about a table-spoonful of it into the soup; and 
then, hearing his cousin's steps on the stairs, he 
retreated, hoping no one had seen him. No one 
had. Helen had banished Aunt Jane to the par- 
lor, Rob was down-town, and the cook was away 
on a holiday. 

Helen emerged from the cellar and glanced at 
the clock. "My! How long I've been down 
there!" she exclaimed. "I wonder if that old 
clock is fast again ! It 's nearly time for the meat 
to come out ! I '11 just run and take a look at the 
table, to see if the flowers are all right. There 's 
the door-bell. That must be Mr. Douglas. What 
an odd old gentleman he is, to be sure, to think of 
taking me to Europe just for this little job of cook- 
ing him a dinner ! " 

So she soliloquized, as she bustled about and 
made her final preparations. 

" Dear me, I 'm so nervous about that seasoning, 
for if it is n't just right, it will spoil the whole thing. 
I do hope the meat is as well done as it looks." she 
added, carefully drawing it from the oven. " Now 
I '11 ' dish up,' as Bridget says, and I 'd better call 
Anne to carry in the things, while I fix myself for 
dinner — my dinner," she said, gleefully, as she 
buttered the peas, and arranged the corn in an 
artistic pyramid. "There, now, Anne, all is 
ready, and you may ring the bell " ; and away she 
went, singing, upstairs. 

Bert, after a while, had begun to feel slightly 
uneasy. He did not know that a trip to Europe 
depended upon that dinner, but he did know that 
Helen had cooked it to please her guardian, and 
he began to think that he might have gone a little 
too far. '■ 1 'm always plaguing her, and now she '11 
dislike me worse than ever," he said. " True, 

she 's acted very coolly toward me lately, but I de- 
served it. Well, now I 've done it, and I 'm going 
to make the best of it — that's all." 

" Hello, Bert, what makes you look so gloomy? 
How 's my lady ? I hope you have n't been teasing 
her this morning," said Rob, as he entered the door. 
"Really," continued he, "you tease her entirely 
too much. Mother thinks so. Helen is a fine girl, 
and I am sure she has a right to her little whims. 
Come along; there's the dinner-bell." 

Bert arose and followed his brother. It had been 
long since he had felt so remorseful about any- 
thing. Helen was seated by Mr. Douglas, looking 
very happy, and talking to him gayly about her 
experiences during the last few months. 

The soup was served first. 

Bert, who was in a brown study, was suddenly 
aroused by hearing Mr. Douglas say, " The soup 
is excellent, my dear. It really does you great 

If a cannon-ball had struck Bert, he could hardly 
have been more surprised. 

He stared at Mr. Douglas with open mouth. 
"Why, how can that be?" he said to himself, in 
a bewildered way. " I must have put nearly an 
ounce of red pepper into it." 

Then he tasted it himself; it was excellent, and 
the seasoning was perfect. 

Soon the meat and vegetables were brought on. 

Bert watched both anxiously. But the meat was 
done to a turn, and, as in a dream, he heard Mr. 
Douglas saying that it was one of the best dinners 
he had ever eaten. 

"I really don't understand it," thought Bert. "I 
set that clock ahead nearly half an hour, and the 
things ought all to be dreadfully underdone." 

" What 's the matter, Bert ? " said Helen ; " are 
you afraid to eat your dinner? " 

Then he began to feel that he was hungry, and, 
putting aside his feelings, he did ample justice to 
Helen's dinner. 

A very good dessert followed the dinner; but 
by that time Bert was rather annoyed. 

"' Well, that is a good joke on me," he decided ; 
"and I 've made myself miserable for nothing; 
bother the whole thing, anyhow ! " 

He kept out of the way that afternoon, but 
toward evening went for a walk. He went farther 
than he intended, and then he stopped to see a 
friend, and staid to supper. 

It was moonlight when he came home, and as 
he was going through the garden he heard a voice 
say: "Why, Bert." 

Turning around, he saw Helen, looking very 
pretty in the moonlight, with her white dress, and 
the roses at her waist. 

" You bad boy, why have n't you come to con- 






been hidi 

gratulate me ? Where 
yourself?" she cried. 

"Your dinner was a great success, Helen, if 
that is what you mean," he answered. 

" No, I mean my going to Europe ! " she said. 

" Going to Europe ? Why, what under the sun 
do you mean ? " 

" I forgot, — of course you didn't know"; and 
then she told him of her guardian's offer, and how 
the trip depended on the success of the dinner. 
' " Oh, Helen, I 'm so sorry I did n't know that," 
said Bert, involuntarily. 

" Why so very sorry ?" queried his cousin. 

" Did n't you go by the kitchen clock when 
you cooked the dinner this morning?" answered 

"By that old thing? No, indeed, I did n't! 
It 's almost worthless. I went by the watch Aunty 
gave me at Christmas time. But why do you ask?" 

Bert could hardly speak for laughing ; and then 
he told her all. 

Helen gave a ringing laugh. 

" Oh, you naughty boy ! " she said. ' 
that you could have done such a thing ! 
joke was decidedly on you. I don't yet understand 
about that pepper, though. Where did you get if?" 

" It was in a red tin box on the table, and " 

To think 
But the 

" Oh, I see ! " exclaimed Helen. " You dear old 
goose, that was a kind of preparation that comes 
for soups ! Aunty always uses it. I was n't going 
to put any in, but now I see you did it for me." 

"Well," said Bert, "I am very glad it ended 
so, and I '11 never tease you again, Helen." 

" Well, if you keep that promise, I '11 never tell 
any one about this affair, and we '11 have the joke 
all to ourselves. Come, let us go in now, for it is 
growing late." 

Helen went to Europe, and studied art there for 
a long time. She never was called a great artist, 
but she was certainly a very good one. 

A picture by her, exhibited at the Royal Acad- 
emy, in London, represented a little girl, standing 
in an old-fashioned kitchen, with a flushed, impor- 
tant face, beating something in a bowl ; while 
through the open window there leaned a boy with 
brown, sunburnt face and laughing eyes, looking 
in at the little maiden. 

It excited much admiration, for it was beautifully 
done. But it was not for sale ; and after it had been 
exhibited Helen took it away and sent it to Bert, 
who had become a minister, and had the charge 
of a large parish. 

And it hangs in his study to this day. 




(Recollections of a Page in the United States Senate.) 

By Edmund Alton. 

Chapter XIII. 


The first regular session of the Forty-third Con- 
gress lasted until the twenty-third day of June, 
1874. Both Houses then adjourned sine die, and 
met again on the seventh of the following Decem- 

even less uncommon to see him " muff" or miss it 
altogether. Still, they were merely a little out of 
practice, — so they said, — and they enjoyed the 
sport as much as we did. 

On summer evenings we would frequently go 
boating upon the beautiful Potomac, and prove on 
the water as well as on the land our superiority 
over our rivals of the Lower House. On one occa- 

ber for a second session. That Congress came sion four of us put off in a row-boat, — a delicate 

to an end on the fourth of March, 1875, and 
with it, as usual, the terms of the representatives 
and many of the senators. A special session of the 
Senate was then called by President Grant. This 
began on the fifth of March and terminated on the 
twenty-fourth of that month. The first regular 
session of the Forty-fourth Congress began on the 
sixth of December, 1875, and adjourned on the 
fifteenth day of August, 1876. With that session 
I gave up my position as a page, having served 
through four regular and two special sessions of 
the Senate, extending over portions of three Con- 

During that period, the ordinary routine of legis- 
lation went on with general smoothness ; and, apart 
from a few novelties, we need not follow in detail 
the proceedings of each session. I shall therefore 
sum up my experiences, and treat the subject in a 
general way, without regard to the strict order 
of events. 

It is scarcely necessary to state that we pages 
made the most of our leisure time during a session. 
Nearly every morning in fair weather we played 
match games of base-ball with the House pages, 
in the large plaza east of the Capitol. Frequently 
the stroke of twelve from the clock would stop us 
in the midst of a game, and we would rush into 
the Senate Chamber just in time to hear the 
words, " the Senate will come to order." We 
were absolutely indispensable during the morning 
hour, carrying up to the Clerk's desk petitions, 
bills, and other papers. It required a large amount 
of will-power for a troop of boys to leave an 
exciting game of ball and, within an instant, 
change to the hard mental work of legislation ! 
But we did it. This shows the versatility of our 
talents. Frequently a senator, about to enter 
the Capitol, would pause for a short time to take 
part in our game ; and it was no uncommon sight 
to see a dignified law-maker jumping from his feet 
to catch a ball flying above his head, while it was 

outrigger, — and pulled up the Potomac as far as 
the rapids, and then we turned about. On the 
homeward trip we had a pleasant time for a while 
— now singing a choice selection from an opera, 
now quietly gliding along, with no sound but that 
made by our oars. But as we neared the city 
the other pleasure parties gradually retired, and 



the river was left entirely to us. Having no one 
else to bother, we had but one recourse for excite- 
ment — to row a race between ourselves. As we 
were all in the same boat, this feat may seem to 
the average intelligence quite impossible. But 
here we manifested our genius. Two of us pulled 

( Copyright, 1SS4, by Edmund Alton. All rights reserved. 




one way and two the other! It was an interest- 
ing tug of war. For some time the little craft 
remained almost motionless in the stream ; but 
finally, as in the old-time wagers of battle, might 
prevailed, and the shoreward oars won the victory. 

The House pages lost what prestige they may 
ever have had as oarsmen by one disaster. Not 
many years ago a canal flowed through the streets 
of Washington — (that is, if such thick and slug- 
gish waters as it contained can be properly said 
to " flow "). It was a useless disfigurement to the 
city ; but it was near the Capitol, and it served 
the purposes of the pages. 

One morning about fifteen of the boys 
— all pages of the House — decided to 
while away an hour or two upon the "placid 
bosom " of this canal. Finding a rickety 
and abandoned raft, they boarded it and 
poled their way along with piratical enthu- 
siasm. They had not gone far, when they 
observed the flag floating from the Capi- 
tol, announcing that the House had con- 
vened for the day. Applying their united 


strength, they attempted, with one herculean shove, 
to send the raft to land. But, alas, their effort 
was too great. The raft capsized, and in an instant 
the shipwrecked mariners were struggling with the 
'"waves!" When fished out, they were the most 

wretched-looking objects imaginable. Their uni- 
forms were completely spoiled. 

Disastrous calamities and desperate exploits were 
not confined, however, to the pages ; and I might 
mention several "legends" told of certain Con- 
gressmen. But as the design of this story is not 
to tell you everything that everybody did, but 
merely to give you "samples "of Congressional 
life, one instance will suffice. 

When I first went to Washington, the western 
approach to the Capitol, before the pending " im- 
provements " were commenced, was through a fine 
old park, the heavy fo- 
liage of which in spring 
concealed much of the 
Capitol from view. The 
approach then led up 
two steep parallel ter- 
races, which extended 
the whole length of the 
building. The pages, 
in winter-time, took ad- 
vantage of these decliv- 
ities for coasting. In- 
stead of sleds, however, 
they used certain large 
paste-board envelope- 
boxes, which they ob- 
tained from the folding- 

One day, the terraces 
and park grounds were 
covered with a thick, 
hard coat of sleet; so 
the envelope-boxes were 
brought out, and the 
lively tobogganing be- 
gan. In the midst of 
the sport, General Ben- 
jamin F. Butler, accom- 
panied by a few other 
representatives, came 
along, and stopped on 
the parapet to witness 
the fun. As he seemed 
to enjoy the sight, one 
of the pages asked him 
if he would take a ride. 
After a brief delibera- 
tion, the General re- 
marked: "Well, Ithink 
I will." 
In a moment, a box was placed at his disposal 
near the edge of the parapet, or upper terrace. 
In this, with considerable difficulty, the portly rep- 
resentative ensconced himself, and soon he stated 
that he was " ready." At the word, the pages gave 



him a vigorous shove, and down he went with 
lightning swiftness, to the great delight of the 
assembled spectators. As with increased mo- 
mentum he struck the second terrace, the box 
parted, and, with terrific speed, he finished the 
trip, "all by himself." And he was still going* 
when lost in the distance of the park ! 

As we pages shared with the law-makers the 
onerous work of legislation, it was but fair that we 
should share the legislative pleasures. " Partak- 
ers in every peril, — in the glory we were entitled 
to participate." The justice of this principle was 
never disputed ; and accordingly, whenever or 
wherever senatorial ceremonies or festivities were 
under way, we were to be found in the company 
of the senators. 

During my last session as a Senate page, I took 
part in two gala frolics. Of course, you all know 
of the great Centennial Exposition at Philadelphia 
in 1876. While the buildings were being erected, 
the citizens of Philadelphia invited the members 
of the Senate and House, together with the 
President, Judges of the Supreme Court, and 
certain other Government officials, to visit that 
city and see how the work was progressing. The 
invitation was accepted. Quite a number of pages 
went along, and this holiday journey did not cost 
any of us a cent. A special train was provided 
for the accommodation of the guests, and on Fri- 
day, December 17, 1875, we said an revoir to 
Washington and started on our journey to the 
Quaker City. We reached the station in West 
Philadelphia in the evening. Carriages were 
in waiting, and the members of the visiting party 
were driven to hotels, and, on the morrow, to the 
Exposition grounds. 

Arriving at the grounds, we were shown various 
buildings and sights, and then taken to Horticult- 
ural Hall, where the festivities were to culminate 
in a grand banquet. Great preparations had been 
made. In the center of the large room were thir- 
teen long tables, and all around us were exotics 
and choice plants and flowers. President Grant 
was given the seat of honor at the middle table, 
and the other guests were distributed about mis- 
cellaneously, we pages being placed together at 
one table, where we could have a good time and 
enjoy the feast undisturbed. 

When all the guests at the other tables had done 
justice to the viands, the remainder of the time was 
devoted to speech-making. But the fact that we 
pages were still busily engaged in satisfying the 
lusty appetites of boys is my excuse for not giving 
you a more detailed description of the proceedings 
of our seniors. 

Later on, we made another journey to Philadel- 
phia. The members of Congress received an invi- 

tation to attend the opening of the Exposition, 
and, as before, the pages went, too. On May 9, 
1876, cars were placed at the senators' disposal, 
and most of the pages left on the early train. We 
had to take a roundabout journey this time by the 
way of York, Pennsylvania ; but we enjoyed it. 
Whenever the cars stopped, if only for an instant, 
we would spring to the ground and then jump back 
again. I suppose many people wondered at the 
meaning of this. Our object, however, was to be 
able to say that we had honored the soil of that 
particular place by touching it. As we crossed the 
Susquehanna River, the train " slowed-up," and we 
at once alighted upon the long bridge and began to 
admire the river. Some of the pages came from the 
rear car, and so lost in their study of the scenery did 
they become that they only recovered their wits in 
time to see the train darting through the town of 
Columbia, half a mile away from them. It was 
fortunate that it was the first section of the Con- 
gressional train. After waiting for several hours, 
they boarded the second section ; but I think the 
little episode of the bridge caused them to take no 
further interest in the scenery during the remain- 
der of the trip. 

On the next day the great International Exhibi- 
tion was to be formally opened, and the city was 
literally overcrowded with visitors. A large stand 
had been erected on the grounds, just outside the 
main building, and reserved for distinguished 
guests. To reach it the guests were obliged to enter 
a certain gate and pass through the main build- 
ing, to the rear of the stand. After a sumptuous 
breakfast, one of the pages went to the entrance 
and told the gate-keeper that he was one of the 
invited guests. The official wished to see the 
page's invitation, but he replied that he was in the 
company of Senator , who had the invita- 
tion. As an evidence that he was not an impostor, 
he presented his railroad pass, which indicated 
who he was. But this did not satisfy the gate- 
keeper, however, and he would not permit the page 
to enter. But a page is not easily baffled. He took 
a carriage and rode all the way down-town to the 

hotel at which Senator was registered, only 

to find that the senator was not there. Of course, 
it would have been useless to search for him. There 
was nothing for the page to do, therefore, but to 
return to the Exhibition. The streets were crowded 
with people and vehicles, and he feared he would 
not be able to arrive in time to join in the opening 
ceremonies. Finally, however, he reached the main 
building again, and went to the gate, expecting to 
meet some of the senators who would vouch for 
him. He waited a long while, but no senators 
came. Then, for the first and last time in his life, 
the page had occasion to make use of a member 




of the House. For, at that moment, he saw Mr. 
Williams — a well-known representative from the 
State of Indiana — about to present his card of 
invitation. Mr. Williams did not know the page 
at all, but the latter stepped up to him and said : 

" Mr. Williams, I am with Senator , but 

as I can not find him, and as he has the invitations, 
will you kindly pass me in on yours?" The 
representative paused and stammered, as much 
as to say that he would like to oblige his young 
friend, but did not know whether he had a right to 
do so. The page, however, was burdened with no 
doubts on the subject, and just as Mr. Williams 
was passing through the gate, the page squeezed 
in ahead, and very complacently went on his way. 
He reached his destination, and, as usual, took 
his place among some of the highest people in the 

And on the next day the Congressional train 
carried back to Washington a goodly company of 
law-makers, among whom none were more tired 
and weary from the unusual exertions of the great 
ceremonial than the Senate pages. 

Chapter XIV. 


So FAR as the personal preferences of the pages 
were concerned, night sessions were our "happy 
hours." It was then that our propensities for mis- 
chief obtained full play. During the dying days 
of a Congress, when resort was had to evening 
work, as previously described, it was customary for 
the Senate late in the afternoon to take a recess 
for an hour or two, in order to afford its members 
and officers an opportunity to take their dinners 
and enjoy a temporary rest. 

Upon re-assembling after this recess, the Senate 
would proceed with its ordinary business of legis- 
lation, and for the first few hours everything would 
proceed in excellent order. If, as was probable, 
the House was in session also, the whole Capitol 
would be illuminated, a brilliant light being placed 
in the dome to indicate that Congress was in ses- 
sion, as people, of course, could not see the flags. 
This was a grand sight to a person at a distance. 
The huge edifice loomed boldly against the even- 
ing sky, and shone out in the darkness like a celes- 
tial castle, with a splendor that could be seen for 
miles around. And within the building the scene 
was still more beautiful — it was brilliant — yes, 
enchanting, and reminded me of the scenes in 
fairy-land of which I had read so much in my 
younger days. 

For the first few hours, every one realized the 

romantic beauty of the occasion. Visitors, attracted 
by curiosity or bent on amusement, crowded the 
great building, and the senators, feeling the influ- 
ence of the scene, would move about the Chamber 
with a remarkable buoyancy of step, and seem, for 
ghe time being, to have regained the activity of 

By midnight, however, there would come a 
change — a change more to our fancy. The 
visitors, having "seen the show," would return to 
their homes and leave the galleries to a few idle 
" owls," as we called the late stayers. The sena- 
tors would gradually grow 'more and more drowsy, 
and retire one by one to the cloak-rooms, com- 
mittee-rooms, or wherever else they could find 
unoccupied sofas, in the effort to catch a moment's 
rest. From this time forward, our principal work 
was to seek out, rouse, and summon the senators 
when wanted. 

As the night advanced, we began our practical 
jokes, of which we had a choice assortment. When 
the House also was in session, we combined our 
ingenious talents with those of the House pages, 
and roamed the Capitol from one end to the other 
in search of prey. Although, ordinarily, we looked 
upon one another as enemies, whenever it came 
down to mischief or fun-making, we were the 
warmest friends. 

Most of our pranks, however, were mild. If we 
put torpedoes under the gavel, they had no other 
effect than to make the Vice-President jump, and if 
we " inadvertently " dropped salt instead of sugar 
into a glass of lemonade, the senator for whom it 
was intended did not, as a rule, discover the fact 
until he had drained the glass to the dregs and the 
page had disappeared from sight. 

•There was one page, named Arthur, who hailed 
from the same State as myself, and was known as 
my "colleague." He was of a rather romantic dis- 
position, and thought that it would be an adven- 
ture worth boasting of to spend a night en the 
dome of the Capitol. So one warm day in summer, 
he came to me and broached his plans. But there 
was one difficulty in the way of their accomplish- 
ment that seemed almost insurmountable. The 
doors leading to the dome were locked every even- 
ing (the police having first required all visitors 
to descend), and they were not re-opened until 
the morning of the next day. 

When I told Arthur that I could obtain the keys, 
he was so delighted that he said: " Well, if you 
will get them, I will set up a banquet fit for a king." 
Then, after a pause, as if he had received a sudden 
inspiration, he exclaimed: "Yes; we shall have 
a banquet, and eat it on the dome ! The very 
thing ! " And he went into raptures over the 
prospects, and urged me to go about the matter at 

i88 5 .] 






once, and also to invite a reasonable number of 
pages to join in our undertaking. 

We decided to have our banquet that same night, 
after the adjournment of the Senate ; and at the 
appointed time I appeared at the rendezvous, where 
Arthur and the other pages were impatiently await- 
ing me. The jingling of the keys sounded like 
music to their ears. Arthur, in the mean time, 
had procured from a caterer a sumptuous repast ; 
and, thus equipped, we cautiously approached the 
entrance to the dome and soon had opened the 
door. Without locking the door behind us (a fortu- 
nate oversight, as events proved !), we began the 
ascent of the long and intricate stairs in a joyous 
procession. I led the way to open the doors, hold- 
ing, besides the keys, a taper to light our path ; 
then came Arthur, carrying a heavy basket, while 
the other pages followed on, each with his arms full 
of precious packages. 

Reaching the dome in safety, we deposited our 
bundles, and were all duly impressed by the scene 
before us. Hundreds of feet below lay the city of 
Washington, with its myriad of twinkling lights. 
Around its boundaries ran the waters of the Poto- 
mac, forming a silvery path that led our eyes 
toward the South, where the eye could catch the 
glimmer of the ancient village of Alexandria and 
the dark outlines of the hills of Maryland. It was 
a calm, pleasant, beautiful night ! The stars were 
doing as well as could be expected of such tiny things, 
and the moon was riding through the heavens with 
her customary grace — now hiding behind one of 
the few clouds that, with the best intentions, had 
come out to help her in her vigil, — now emerging 
into the clear blue of the sky like — like 

But just here we missed Arthur. I walked 
around to the opposite side of the dome, and there 
I found him, gazing into vacancy — by which I 
mean, gazing heavenward with a look of profound 
contemplation worthy of an aesthete. I did not 
disturb him, but came back and told my com- 
panions that he was safe. Then George, who 
was chronically hungry, remarked that it was a 
good time to attack the hampers. We instantly 
began to act upon the suggestion, and devoured 
the luxuries with marvelous avidity. This inter- 
esting proceeding lasted quite a time. As the 
last jar was emptied and the last crumb disposed 
of, we heard Arthur's footsteps. Without a word, 
without a signal, we instinctively fled through the 
door and down the stairs, and in a few moments 
we heard him following us, screaming at the top of 
his voice. It was an exciting and dangerous flight ; 
but on we went through the darkness, the iron 
steps thundering beneath our feet, the vaulted 
passages echoing the noise, and the vast rotunda 
hurling it back with tenfold rage and horror, until 

the Goddess of Liberty upon the dome, hundreds 
of feet above, must have shuddered to think of the 
pandemonium over which she was thus forced to 
preside. But we made the descent in safety, and 
just as we reached the corridor, Arthur burst 
through the quivering doors, empty basket in hand ! 
— Here let us draw the veil ! 

It was by no means during the actual night 
sessions of the Senate that we had our fun. If 
the Senate adjourned after or about midnight, we 
did not go to our homes, but, obtaining the keys 
to the cloak-rooms or to several committee-rooms, 
we remained at the Capitol until morning. But not 
to sleep. That would have been impossible. We 
were veritable owls ; and as soon as the lights in 
the building were extinguished we emerged from 
our hiding-places. 

We had an ambition to go where no one else had 
ever been ; and, with this laudable motive, we ex- 
tended our explorations through every opening in 
the building, whether in the subterranean caverns 
far below, or in any secret recesses upon the roof, 
which the genius and tender foresight of the archi- 
tect had left sufficiently large to permit the intro- 
duction of a human head. And whenever a boy's 
head went through, he soon managed to pull the 
body after it. 

Once we crawled into the pneumatic tube, con- 
structed for the purpose of transmitting documents 
to the Congressional printing-office, a half miledis- 
tant; and having crept like an army of snakes, for 
several hundred feet, backed out again, — the tube 
being hardly wide enough to permit our passage, 
much less our turning around. We derived im- 
mense satisfaction from this exploit. This satis- 
faction was increased when the engineer informed 
us, as we emerged begrimed with dirt, that in an- 
other instant we should have been annihilated by 
the ball that, filled with documents, was shot with 
lightning velocity from the farther end. This 
may have been true, or it may have been said to 
"scare " us. 

Our rovings were often rewarded by finding 
rooms and articles, the existence of which few 
about the building knew or suspected. In the large 
room of pillars, which is often called the crypt 
(although it is "really the room above the crypt, 
where it was intended to entomb the remains of 
General Washington), there was a trap-door. 
Once, opening this, we descended an old stone 
staircase, and, reaching the bottom, soon foundour- 
selves in a circular room, damp and cold, and nearly 
filled with broken statuary of every description — 
statesmen, griffins, lions, and other images. The 
flickerings of our lights against these marble fig- 
ures produced a ghastly effect that threw us into 
an ecstasy of bliss. 



Chapter XV. 


But the most interesting excursions, after all, 
were those to the "Cave of the Winds," where the 
waves of sound roar and rumble and dash against 
one another like the breakers of the sea, and where 
the moving stalagmites and eyeless fish — What 's 
that you say? You do not know where it is? 

heavy atmosphere of philosophy, generally make 
a brief visit to the Senate, and, after thus pre- 
paring themselves, drop into the Supreme Court 
room and gratify their philosophic desires to their 
hearts' content. There they will sit for hours 
and listen to the black-gowned judges and black- 
letter lawyers discussing grave questions of Con- 
stitutional law and the weighty problems of human 
government and civil liberty. 

But such as retain their youthful love of enter- 


Why, I am surprised ! No, it is not down in your 
geographies. The "Cave of the Winds" is one 
of the titles by which the House of Representa- 
tives is known. Perhaps it is irreverent to speak of 
it in that way ; but I may say with truth that while 
the House of Representatives is undoubtedly a very 
important assembly, it is also a very noisy body. 
This, however, constitutes its chief charm to a 
great many sight-seers. 
Visitors to Washington who like to inhale the 

tainment go to the House of Representatives. 
There is something captivating about the continu- 
ous buzz-buzz-buzz that distinguishes that body, 
in so marked a manner, from the Senate. 

The babel of voices in the House is really per- 
plexing to one accustomed to the serenity of the 
Senate. There is as much difference between the 
two bodies of Congress in this respect as there 
is between the quiet of a country church and the 
turmoil of a city. If you wish to test the matter, 

62 o 



when in Washington, let me tell you how to do it : 
First, go to the Senate, then walk right across to 
the House. Another good plan is to go to the 
House just as it is called to order. I tried the ex- 
periment last session. When the Speaker brought 
down his gavel, there was instantaneous silence. 
The members rose to their feet, and the chaplain 
offered a prayer. After that, the noise broke out. 
Then I tried to analyze it. I did not succeed very 
well; but there was in it a little of everything that 
makes a noise, from the little fly to the raging 
ocean. It was a buzzing, gurgling, and roaring, all 
combined in one general noise ! 

How far the title of " Cave of the Winds " is due 
to the acoustic properties of the hall, I do not 
know. But I know one thing : — the sound waves 
could not clash unless put in motion. Now, who 
puts them in motion ? I shall tell you : 

The galleries contribute somewhat to this noise, 
but the members are principally responsible for 
it. They gather around the desks or stand in the 
narrow aisles or in the area behind the outer 
row of seats, and discuss, in knots of from three 
to a dozen or more, some interesting question of 
politics, or possibly narrate funny anecdotes. And 
it is a very usual sight to see one of the represent- 
atives making a "spread-eagle" speech, beating 
the air with his arms, and shouting away vehe- 
mently, and not one of his three hundred and twenty- 
four associates showing the least interest in what 
he is saying. Of course, everything that is said 
by such a speaker is taken down by the reporters, 
so that the other members do not lose anything by 
not listening. Frequently a Congressman does not 
go to the trouble of delivering a speech, but writes 
it out and then obtains leave of the House to have 
it printed in the Record, where it can be seen by 
those who may be sufficiently interested to read it. 

Sometimes, however, a member thinks that he 
would at least like the privilege of hearing him- 
self talk, and becomes annoyed by the excessive 
confusion in the hall. Then the Speaker will com- 
mand order and exert all the muscles of his good 
right arm in beating with his gavel. But often 
the other members persist in their conversation, 
notwithstanding the Speaker's cry of "order," 
each group of culprits feeling that it is not making 
much noise and ignoring the fact that every whis- 
per adds to the objectionable disturbance. Under 
these circumstances, it often becomes necessary for 
the Speaker to take extreme measures ; and the 
most effective way to secure quiet is for him to sus- 

pend the proceedings and direct the Sergeant-at- 
arms to take the mace and force the members to 
take their seats. The mace is a sort of scepter, 
surmounted by a silver eagle, which, guarded by 
the Sergeant-at-arms, rests on a marble stand at 
the right of the Speaker.* This the Sergeant-at- 
arms carries in front of him when so directed by the 
Speaker, and, as he walks about the room, every one 
retreats before this ensign of authority, and retires 
to his proper place. To face it would be to oppose 
the power of the House of Representatives. Silence 
being thus restored, the proceedings are resumed. 
It frequently happens, however, that before you 
can say "Jack Robinson " most of the members are 
"at it again," engaged as deeply as ever in con- 
versation, and violating the injunction of their pre- 
siding officer. It is almost an impossibility to 
make three hundred men fold their arms like 
school-boys, and sometimes the Speaker can hardly 
do more than preserve sufficient order to enable 
the reporters to hear what is being said. 

If an entertaining speaker obtains the floor, the 
members will cluster around his chair and clog the 
aisles and the area of freedom — only to be driven 
back to their seats by the Sergeant-at-arms. I have 
seen such a crowd dispersed by the Speaker half a 
dozen times in an hour — but back they were sure 
to come. They are as curious as boys, and fully 
as impetuous. 

Even when it comes to the important question 
of voting, the members do not keep silence. 
If a " division " or "rising" vote is ordered, you 
will hear them shout, " Up ! up ! " or " Down ! 
down ! " as the case may be, to warn their friends 
what to do ; and on nearly every roll-call of the yeas 
and nays the Speaker is compelled to suspend pro- 
ceedings and compel members to be seated, in 
order that the Clerk may hear the responses of the 

Such a state of affairs does not always exist. I 
have seen the House of Representatives almost as 
quiet as the Senate. But that was late at night, 
when most of the members were asleep, or when 
there was some august ceremony going on — such 
as the counting of the electoral votes, at which time 
the Senate and House met in joint convention. 

But I will tell you more in regard to the differ- 
ences between the two Houses anon. The design 
of this chapter was merely to point out one feature 
of dissimilarity — the noise and hubbub of the 
House of Representatives as compared with the 
quiet dignity of the Senate. 

(To be continued. ) 

* When the House goes into Committee of the Whole, the mace is taken down, and not replaced until the committee rises and 
the Speaker, as the presiding officer of the House, resumes the chair. 




By Mrs. M. Sheffev Peters. 

and Roderick 
Kingsley were in 
training for the 
of the Flush- 
ington High 
School Gym- 
nasium. That 
is to say, David 
.vas; buthiscous- 
1 Roderick, con- 
fident of his superior 
prowess, was careless of his 
training, and exercised in the gymna- 
sium hall so irregularly that his special partisans 
at last called him to account. 

"If you don't look out, Rod, you 'II miss the 
prize,'' said Jack Dinsmore. " Dave is in the Gym 
mornings and evenings, as regular as clock-work. 
He does n't like to be beaten even at leap-frog, 
you know, and I tell you, you '11 have to practice if 
you mean to be captain. Is n't that so, boys? " 

The boys thus appealed to echoed Jack's senti- 
ments, and Dennis Moore added : 

" What you need, Rod, is to learn some new 
tricks on the bars or the trapeze, so that Dave 
can't get ahead of you." 

" And here comes the very fellow that can put 
you up to a thing or two in that line," said Nappy 
Scruggs, pointing in the direction of the village 

" Ouelipeg? That's so ! " said Tommy Hicks, as 
the boys glanced at the gaunt figure approaching 
them, and Roderick recalled the injunction of his 
father to have nothing whatever to do with Ouelipeg. 
But the criticisms of the boys had roused Roder- 
ick's determination, and as the objectionable Ouel- 
ipeg, with his sharp-ribbed terrier, was slouching 
by, he called out : " Hey, Quelipeg, show us your 
flying leap and somersault on our trapeze, — wont 
you ? " 

The new-comer, nothing loath, swaggered into 
the school gymnasium with the crowd of boys, and 
was soon whirling and turning in what he called 
the " Giant's Spring." 

For Ouelipeg was a helper and hanger-on of 
the circus company which had gone into winter- 
quarters on the outskirts of the village, and he had 
gained notoriety not only as a scape-grace, but as 
a daring and excellent gymnast. 

So the boys admired and applauded his agility. 

and then, just in the midst of his remarkable 
" Giant's Spring," the door opened and David 
Kingsley entered. 

" How did that fellow happen to come in here ? " 
he asked of Roderick. 

" We asked him in, that 's how he came," curtly 
replied his cousin. 

" Don't you think Uncle Roderick might object 
to his being here?" said David, calmly. " You 
know what he told us about him." 

" Well, I don't think he 's likely to know any- 
thing about it," replied Roderick ; " unless " 

David finished the sentence. " Unless I tell 
tales out of school, I suppose you mean." 

Roderick flushed, but said, laughingly, " I say, 
Dave, if one of the fellows should take lessbns from 
Ouelipeg, you and I might give up all hopes of the 
championship, eh ? " 

" Likely enough," answered David ; " but I 'd 
give up my chance of being captain if I had to owe 
it to his teaching." 

" Well, I 'm glad I 'm not so particular as all 
that," said Roderick, with a contemptuous curl of 
the lip. 

" Why, you don't mean to say you 're going to 
take lessons from him, Rod? " asked David, quickly. 
" If you 've any respect for yourself, you '11 keep 
clear of him. You know that such a scamp is not 
a fit companion for you." 

Low as the words were spoken, Ouelipeg heard 
them. He was at David's elbow in an instant. 

" Take that back," he said, threateningly, "or 
I '11 make ye " ; and he threw himself into the 
regulation boxing attitude. 

David faced him quietly. " Thank you," he 
said, coolly, " I do not care to box this afternoon." 

" Ho, you 're afraid, I see ! " said Ouelipeg. 

There was not a Flushingtonian who did not 
understand the forbearance of David Kingsley as 
he straightened himself and eying Ouelipeg, said: 

" You heard me say that I did not care to box 
with you." 

Ouelipeg caught up a piece of chalk from the 
scoring-board and drew a glistening white ciicle 
around the calm-faced lad. 

" Ef you '11 jest step across that line." he said, 
" I 'II show you who 's who." 

David Kingsley took one step forward. In an- 
other instant he was across the chalk line and 
grappling with his foe. 

The Flushingtonians were quite as much sur- 




prised at the onslaught as was Ouelipeg. For 
David Kingsley was not reckoned among the school 
fighters, though he was known to be absolutely 

The struggle was brief, but determined. David's 
course of training for the championship stood him 
in good stead, and almost before the boys could 
form a ring about the combatants, Ouelipeg was 
flat on his back. 

The spectators set up a ringing cheer over the 
victory of their comrade, but David, staggering 
to his feet, gave his cousin a look full of meaning 
and passed out of the hall. 

Roderick, however, paid no heed to his cousin's 
glance, and, indeed, as if David's exhibition of 
prowess had but roused him to deeper determina- 
tion, that very evening he arranged with Ouelipeg, 
who was still chafing over his defeat, to meet him 
at the circus encampment on the following after- 
noon to take acrobatic lessons in the great trapeze 
in the practice hall. 

Punctually at the time appointed, Roderick ar- 
rived at the encampment. But he found Oueli- 
peg in a high state of excitement. Things had 
gone wrong because of his absence at feeding-time 
the day before, as many of the company were away 
giving winter evening exhibitions on their own 
account, and the force was short-handed. The ele- 
phant and the big Bengal tiger, thus delayed in 
their customary meal, had come in collision; the 
elephant had charged on the tiger's cage and over- 
turned it ; the tiger, in return, had given a savage 
scratch to the elephant's trunk, and was vicious, 
red-eyed, and ferocious. Since then the tiger had 
grown calmer, but was still sullen, and Quelipegfed 
it with trepidation, hoping all the while that the 
cage was tight. The men had gone to town after 
feeding the animals, and Ouelipeg was left in 
charge, with strict orders to see that nothing was 

" Hey, Ouelipeg," said Roderick, as he entered 
the practice hall; " I hope you 're out of the sulks 

Quelipeg scowled; " Out of 'em ? Oh, yes," he 
said, "till my time comes." 

Roderick laughed. " Nonsense," he said, " you 
should n't bear a grudge against Dave. But, I 
say, — show me the Bengal tiger, — wont you ? " 

" No, Sir," said Ouelipeg. " I 've strict orders 
not to meddle with the beasts." 

"Oh, pshaw," said Roderick. " All the men are 
gone. Come on, take me around and let 's end 
up with the tiger." 

Quelipeg assented at last. He did not often 
have so fine a visitor, and he could not resist the 
opportunity to play the part of showman. 

They finished their tour of inspection, and 

entered the tiger's division as noiselessly as possible. 
But the beast heard them and was on the alert at 
once. As they approached, it raised its great head 
and showed its teeth, growling. Roderick laughed 
and moved closer. The tiger leaped to its feet, 
and as the foolish youth flirted his handkerchief 
at it, the great brute sprang forward, with a sav- 
age roar, and shook the iron bars furiously. 

Ouelipeg caught Roderick's arm. " Come 
away ! " he shouted. " If he smashes those bars, 
we 're lost ! " 

Terrified for once, Roderick obeyed, but when 
Ouelipeg had drawn him into the practice hall, 
and barred the door, the fool-hardiness returned. 
He insisted on unbarring the door and taking 
another peep at his tigership. Ouelipeg, who was 
putting on his gymnasium suit, begged him to 
come away. 

"Pshaw, Ouelipeg," said Roderick, dropping 
the bar, " I thought you were braver." 

" I know it 's best not to anger that beast," said 
Ouelipeg, climbing into a trapeze. " So you 'd 
better let him alone and come and 'tend to business." 

"All right," said Roderick, leaving the door, and 
proceeding to don his practice suit. 

In a moment or two he was ready. "Shall I 
come up there where you are ? " he asked. 

Quelipeg made no reply. The face that was 
looking down upon Roderick suddenly grew white 
and ashen. His staring eyes were fixed on the 
door leading to the tiger's cage. 

" The tiger ! The tiger ! " he cried. 

Roderick gave one terrified look toward the 
door. He thought he had latched it, but it was 
ajar now, and through the crack a pair of fiery eye- 
balls were blazing. The latch had only partly 
caught, and was but feebly resisting the tiger's 
weight. Roderick knew that it could not long 

A cold sweat started from all his pores, as, 
blinded and sick, he heavily drew himself up until 
he grasped Quelipeg's trapeze. This touch roused 
Ouelipeg, who, as if spell-bound, had been watching 
the deadly persistence of the tiger. For an instant 
he glared at Roderick, as though he would thrust 
him oft to meet his fate. Then a sinister smile 
distorted his face. 

" Well," he said in a harsh whisper, " you may 
have this trapeze. I '11 take the one above ; only 
don't you come up there, or I '11 " 

The threat was cut short, and his movement up- 
ward accelerated by the crashing in of the door. 
The tiger was in the room ! Roderick drew him- 
self up into the deserted trapeze, and clung there, 
watching the beast, as it advanced leisurely along 
the hall, lashing its sides. All too soon the blazing 
eyes were lifted to him. The creeping, sinuous 

■88 5 . 1 



movement stopped instantly, and the animal 
crouched as if to spring. Roderick was only 
a few feet above those cruel jaws. 

Beneath the roof Ouelipeg sat, guarding 
his perch. Roderick dared not climb to 
Quelipeg for refuge. A mist came before his 
eyes ; the outlines of his hideous foe were 
vague ; even the cruel eyes seemed to grow 
dim and far away, when suddenly he heard 
a sharp call : 

" Roderick ! Roderick ! Leap to the tra- 
peze back of you ! " 

The command reached the youth's faint- 
ing senses. Summoning his suspended en- 
ergies he whirled over, giving his swing the 
pendulum sweep. The tiger was evidently non- 
plussed, and at a loss as to the direction in which 
to spring. Its brawny neck and shoulders swayed 
to and fro, following the motions of the young 


same instant, however, Roderick had made a des- 
perate spring, and had caught the other trapeze 
hanging some distance beyond. 

So true had been the aim of the tiger that, as 
the deserted swing whirled back, its bar passed 

But only for a moment. Then it gathered itself quite underneath the slender, striped body launched 
together, and made its leap into the air ! In the against it. Caught thus inftsown toils, the beast, 




feeling itself borne upward by the impetus of its 
weight and bound, doubled about the bar, and 
clutched it with the grasp of desperation. 

Roderick had a keen sense of the ludicrous, and 
even in the midst of his danger he had an hysterical 
inclination to laugh at this sight of the royal beast 
transformed into a swinging gymnast ! 

But he was conscious of his continued peril, and 
he was conscious, moreover, that his cousin, David 
Kingsley, was bravely periling his own life to save 
him. To induce Roderick to withdraw from his 
association with Ouelipeg, David had followed him 
to the encampment. A glance through the window 
had shown him the imminent danger of his cousin. 
It was his voice that had saved him from the tiger's 
claw. Seizing his opportunity, when the beast was 
hanging to the trapeze, he darted into the hall, 
and passed swiftly through it, springing upon the 
step of an empty cage that stood in an alcove. 
The tiger was attracted by the slender figure 
speeding past him, and as the oscillations of the 
swing slackened, the big cat dropped from the bar, 
and noiselessly crept toward David. The boy stood 
still, keeping his brave eye on the brute as it drew 
closer and closer. 

Presently the creature crouched for a spring. 
David turned swiftly, and with a bound passed 
through the entrance into the lion's cage, on the 
step of which he had been standing. It was the 
work of a second for the furious beast of prey to 
leap through the still-open door, in pursuit ! 

Suspended from his trapeze, Roderick saw David 
enter and bound out of sight. Then an awful 
silence followed. , Oh, could nothing be done to 
save the noble life whose sacrifice would lie at the 
door of his own willfulness and disobedience ! 
Animated by a faint hope, Roderick descended 
from the trapeze and courageously advanced to- 
ward the alcove. 

After a step or two, he stopped, transfixed. 

" Roderick ! " at the same instant called a ring- 
ing voice that had a note of triumph in it, "can't 

you help me out of this ? I 've captured the tiger ! 
But I 've captured myself, too ! " 

Tremulous with joy, Roderick hurried to the 
cage, through the bars of which, almost alongside 
of theprotruding paw of the baffled tiger, David's 
brave hands were stretched out to him. For his 
cousin was captured, in truth. The prison-house 
in which he and the Bengal were captives together, 
had been constructed for the purpose of taming a 
lion and lioness. In the cage were sliding bars, 
acting on springs, intended to divide the cage into 
three compartments. Two of these divisions the 
lion-tamer had used for the purpose of separating 
and separately subduing the animals in his care. 
In the third and smaller chamber, he found secu- 
rity for himself when his beasts proved refractory. 
Hither David had retreated, sliding the panel be- 
tween himself and his insatiate pursuer. The 
beast had followed in hot pursuit, but only to hurl 
itself with baffled rage against the stout bars, 
shutting it from its prey, and while it was vainly 
tearing and scratching at the barrier protecting 
David, the youth had touched the spring con- 
trolling the first division panel, as he had more 
than once seen the lion-tamer do, and the panel 
had sprung into place, effectually imprisoning the 
great brute. A door led out from the compart- 
ment in which David was confined; but it was 
locked, and the lion-tamer, Ouelipeg said, had 
the key. Nothing remained, therefore, but for the 
boys to exercise patience, while Quelipeg, now 
thoroughly frightened but greatly relieved, made 
sure that the other animals were safe, and then ran 
for the lion-tamer. 

In the meantime, the cousins had a long and 
confidential talk together, whilst those fiery eyes 
watched them ceaselessly. 

There was no contest for the captaincy in the 
Flushington gymnasium that year ; but Roderick 
Kingsley never forgot the lesson he had learned in 
the contest with that terrible gymnast — the Ben- 
gal tiger. 


By C. C. S. 

Hurry and Worry were two busy men ; 
They worked at the desk till the clock struck ten. 
They gained high station, power, and wealth. 
And lost youth, happiness, and health. 



: %\- 1 

[Fourth Paper. ] 

ik'^-.T would seem very strange and perhaps 
~ not very pleasant to my young readers to 
hear a tallow candle or the shin-bone of a reindeer 
called candy. And yet these things may really be 
considered as Eskimo candy, because they would 
delight the children of the cold in precisely the way 
that a box of bon-bons would delight you. 

There is a certain kind of water-fowl in Arctic 
countries known as the dovekie. It is about the 
size of a duck, is quite black, has a prominent 
white stripe on its wings, and its webbed feet are of 
a brilliant red. When sitting in rows on the edge 
of some mossy, dark-green rock, these little red feet 
are very conspicuous, and, together with the white 
stripes on the wings, make the dovekie a very pretty 
bird. Sometimes, when the men have killed a 
number of dovekies, the Eskimo women cut off the 
bright red feet, draw out the bones, and, blowing 
into the skins, distend them as much as possible 
so as to form pouches. When these pouches are 
thoroughly dried they are filled with reindeer tal- 
low, and the bright red packages, which I assure 
you look much nicer than they taste, are little 
Boreas's candy. In very cold weather the Eskimo 
children eat great quantities of fat and blubber ; 
and this fatty food, which seems to us so uninviting, 
helps to keep them warm and well. 

Silly other kind of candy that the Eskimo 

have, is the marrow from the long leg or 

of the slaughtered reindeer. Of this, 

are very fond. Whenever a reindeer is 

id the meat has been stripped from the 

the legs, these bones are placed on the 

Vol. XII. — 40. 

* Copyright, by Frederick Schwatka, 1S85. 




floor of the igloo and cracked with a hatchet until 
the marrow is exposed. The bones are then 
forced apart with the hands, and the marrow is 
dug out of the ends with a long, sharp, and nar- 
row spoon made from a walrus's tusk. 1 have eaten 
this reindeer marrow frozen and cooked ; and after 
one becomes accustomed to eating frozen meat raw, 
it is really an acceptable tid-bit ; while cooked and 
nicely served, it would be a delicacy anywhere. 
Sometimes, if Toolooah was unusually lucky, he- 
would have eight or ten reindeer on hand that he 
had killed during the day, and as each deer has 
eight leg-bones, from which the marrow can be 
extracted, quite a meal could be made from this 
very peculiar candy. 

There is one kind of play in which the Eskimo boys 

then away they go on a rolling race downhill, sud- 
denly spreading themselves out at full length, and 
stopping instantly at the bottom of the hill. Every 
now and then when a playful mood strikes a boy, 
he will double himself up and roll downhill with- 
out waiting for the rivalry of a race, but it is vio- 
lent exercise, and it bumps the little urchin severely. 
Another athletic amusement in which the boys 
indulge, and which requires a great deal of 
strength, is a peculiar kind of short race on the 
hands and feet. The boys lean forward on their 
hands and feet, with their arms and legs held 
as stiffly as possible, and under no circumstances 
must they bend either the elbows or knees. In 
this stiff and rigid position, resting only on their 
feet and on the knuckles of their clinched fists, 
they jump or hitch forward a couple of inches 
by a quick, convulsive movement of the whole 
body. These movements are rapidly repeated, 
perhaps once or twice in a second, until the con- 
testants have covered two or three yards along 
the hard snow-drifts. Then they become ex- 
hausted, for, as I have already said, this exer- 
j| cise calls for considerable strength, and is indeed 
a very fatiguing amusement ; so that, by the 
time a boy has played quite energetically in this 
way, if only for a minute, he feels very tired, and 
is willing to take a breathing-spell. It is not a 
very graceful game, and if you were to take a 
carpenter's wooden horse and jog it along by 
short jerks over the floor, you would have a tol- 


seem always ready to indulge — a roll downhill. 
They select a small but steep hill, or incline, well 
covered with snow, and, seating themselves on the 
top of the ridge, thrust their heads between their 
legs, pass their clinched, gloved hands over their 
ankles, pressing their legs as closely against their 
bodies as possible. They thus really make them- 
selves into big balls covered with reindeer hair, and 

erably fair representation of this awkward game of 
the Eskimo children. The best part of it all is the 
exercise it gives them, and often one will see 
a single boy jumping along in this stiff-legged 
fashion as if he were practicing for a race, a slight 
downhill grade being preferred. 

Another method of racing, somewhat similar to 
the above, is also practiced ; folding the arms 



across the breast, and holding the knees firmly exercise. Whenever the ball drops to the ground, 

rigid, with the feet close together, the contestants or the players fail to keep it flying, it is a signal 

paddle along as fast as possible by short jumps for a rest. Simple as is the game, the little Eskimo 

of an inch or two. It is a severe strain on the manage to gain much fun and excitement from it, 

feet, and one can not go very far in so awkward a and whenever you hear an unusual amount of 


way. The little girls, standing in a row of from 
three to five, often jump up and down in the 
same manner, keeping a sort of time with the 
thumping of their heels to the rude songs that 
they are spluttering out in jerks and gasps as 
unmusical as the hammering of their heels. A lot 
of these little damsels would favor us with a short 
version of this stiff-jumping, spluttering melody 
whenever they were particularly grateful for some 
small gift we had presented to them. 

A capital game played by the little girls, and by 
some of the smaller boys, is a rude sort of ball- 
game. Thick sealskin leather is made into a ball 
about the size of our common base-ball, and then 
filled about two-thirds full with sand. If com- 
pletely filled, it would be as hard and unyielding 
as a stone, and the singular sliding way it has of 
yielding because of its being only partially filled, 
makes it much harder to catch and retain in the 
hands than our common ball. The game is a very- 
simple one, much like our play with bean-bags, 
and consists simply in striking at the ball with the 
open palm of the hand, and, when there is a 
crowd of players, in keeping the ball constantly in 
the air. This is a favorite summer game when 
the snow is off the ground and the people are living 
in sealskin tents. No doubt it affords considerable 

shouting and loud and boisterous merriment out-of- 
doors, you may bealmostcertain offinding, when you 
go to your tent door, that all the children of the 
village are engaged in a game of " sand-bag ball." 

Another Eskimo out-of-door amusement much 
resembles the old Indian game of" Lacrosse." It 
is played on the smooth lake ice, with three or four 
small round balls of quartz or granite, about the 
size of an English walnut. These are kicked and 
knocked about the lake, with plenty of fun and 
shouting, but utterly without any rules to govern 
the game. 

It takes a long time to grind one of these 
irregular pieces of stone into a round ball, but the 
Eskimo people are very patient and untiring in 
their routine work, and with them, as with the 
Indians, time is of hardly any consequence what- 
ever. The number of years that they will spend 
in plodding away at the most simple things shows 
them to be probably the most patient people in 
the world. 

When we were near King William's Land, I saw 
an Eskimo working upon a knife that, as nearly as 
I could ascertain, had engaged a good part of his 
time some six years preceding that date. He 
had a flat piece of iron, which had been taken 
from the wreck of one of Sir John Franklin's 




ships, and from this he was endeavoring to make 
a knife-blade, which, when completed, would be 
about twelve inches long. In cutting it from this 
iron plate he was using for a chisel an old file, 
found on one of the ships, which it had taken him 
two or three years to sharpen by rubbing its edge 
against stones and rocks. His cold-chisel finished, 
he had been nearly as many years cutting a straight 
edge along the ragged sides of the irregular piece 
of iron, and when I discovered him he had out- 
lined the width of his knife on the plate and was 

the same purpose. We had with us a great num- 
ber of glovers' needles, and these we traded for the 
iron ones, which to us were great curiosities. The 
women do some wonderfully neat sewing with these 
needles, considering the nature of the implements 
and the coarse thread of reindeer sinew which 
they use. This sinew is stripped from the rein- 
deer's back in flat pieces about eighteen inches 
long and two inches wide. The Eskimo woman's 
spool of thread consists of a bundle of these strips 
of sinew, hung up in the igloo, from which she 


cutting away at it. It would probably have taken 
him two years to cut out this piece, and two more 
to fashion the knife into shape and usefulness. 

The file which he had made into a cold-chisel 
was such a proof of labor and patience that it was 
a great curiosity to me, and I gave him a butcher's 
knife in exchange for it. Thus almost the very 
thing he had been so long trying to make he now 
unexpectedly found in his possession. When I 
told him that our factories (or " big igloos," as I 
called them for his easier understanding) could 
make more than he could carry of such butcher- 
knives during the time we had spent in talking 
about his, he expressed his great surprise in pro- 
longed gasps of breath at this manifest superiority 
of the Kod-loou-sah, as the Eskimo call the white 

Among the women of this same tribe I found a 
number of square iron needles that they had taken 
months to make, slowly filing them on rough, 
rusty iron plates and occasionally using stones for 

strips a thread whenever she needs one. It is 
very strong, and will cut through the flesh of one's 
fingers before it can be broken. The Eskimo braid 
it into fish-lines, bow-strings, whip-cord, and nearly 
always have a ball of it on hand in the house braided 
up and ready for use. 

Before the Eskimo became acquainted with white 
men, and learned to use their better implements, 
many household articles were made from bone and 
the ivory walrus tusks. Among these were forks, 
spoons, and even knives, of which a few designs 
are shown on the next page. Very few are in exist- 
ence now, but some of them were much more orna- 
mental than those in the illustration, for, as I have 
said, the northern natives do not hesitate to begin 
anything for want of time in which to complete 
it ; and if they only have the ingenuity to manufac- 
ture odd or pretty designs, they have plenty of 
leisure and plenty of patience to carve them out. 

Many of the smaller and odd pieces left from the 
tusk are carved into figures of birds and animals. 



Occasionally you will see some old woman of the 
tribe with quite a bagful of ivory dogs, ducks, 
bears, swans, walrus, seals, and every living thing 
with the form of which they are familiar. They 
will make rude dominoes and sit and play with 
them for hours at a time during their long winter 
evenings. And not toys only, but many articles 
of utility also are thus carved from the ivory taken 
from the tusks of the walrus. Walrus and seal 
spear-heads, and the sharpened head of the lances 
they used in killing the musk-ox and polar bear, 
were formerly thus made. In fact, it would have 
been almost impossible for the Eskimo to exist 
without this valuable portion of the walrus, before 
an acquaintance with the white men enabled them 
to secure iron and guns to replace their own rude im- 
plements. The principal use now made of the tusks 
is to trade them in quantities to the whalers, who 
pay for them in such merchandise as the natives 

The Eskimo have no money of any sort, and 
know nothing of its use. In fact, they know very 
little about the true value of any one thing as 
compared with others ; and if they desire a needle, 
or any other small article, they are ready to give 
in exchange for it a garment or object which you, 
brought up to compare the values of things, would 
know to be worth ten, or possibly one hundred, times 
as much. The poor creatures are thus often badlv 
cheated by unprincipled persons who take advan- 
tage of this trait of their character, and they fre- 
quently receive little or nothing for things which 
in our own country are very valuable. I once saw 
such a man give twenty-five musket-caps to an 
Eskimo boy for five pretty, white fox skins, which, 
at that rate, would have been one cent of ourmonev 
for three fox skins ; and the skins could readily be 
sold for five dollars when he reached the United 

A favorite Eskimo amusement is one which both 
the white and Indian boys sometimes play with the 
bow and arrow. It is to see how many arrows can 
be kept in the air at one time. The Eskimo boy, 
with his quiver pulled around over his shoulders 
so that he can get the arrows quickly and readily, 
commences shooting them straight up into the air, 
and when the first arrow thus shot up strikes the 
ground, he must at once stop. The number of 
arrows he has shot indicates his score, which he 
will compare with that made by the other boys. 
Sometimes they will only count those that in de- 
scending stand upright in the snow', and in this 
case they will shoot all that are in their quivers. 

At another time they will count only those that 
stick upright within a certain area, generally a circle 
of from twenty to thirty yards in diameter ; these 
must all be shot from the bow by the time the 
first arrow strikes within the space marked out, 
and in this case considerable precision and rapidity 
in shooting are required to make a good score. 
The boys will often shoot a single arrow high into 
the air and try to intercept it with another one sent 
straight horizontally above the ground as the first 
one rapidly descends. The Eskimo and Indians and 
other savage tribes who are skilled in the use of the 
bow and arrow, can shoot an arrow so that it will 
go somewhat sidewise. They practice this way 
of shooting when trying to hit a descending arrow, 
or one stuck upright in the ground. It must, how- 
ever, be remembered that the Eskimo are not as 
good bowmen as are many of the other savage 
tribes, who gain a part or all of their living by this 
instrument ; the Eskimo use spears and lances 
much more frequently, and where accuracy is 
especially needed, bows are seldom employed. 
With those Eskimo who come into frequent con- 
tact with white men, guns have now altogether 
taken the place of bows and arrows. 

{To be continued. ) 




By Bessie Parker. 

One day, as the swans were swimming about the duck-pond, and the 
two gray ducks with black heads were keeping out of the swans' way, a 
pretty cream-colored duck, with ten yellow, downy ducklings, came wad- 
dling down from the duck-house. She showed her babies to the swans, but 
drove the black-headed ducks away when they came near her ducklings. 
At first the little ducklings kept very close to their mother, and paddled up 
and down the pond with her. But before they were ten days old, they 
grew very greedy and unkind. They would peck at one another, and I 
am sorry to say that Mother Duck did not try to teach them good manners. 

But when they were big enough, she did teach them to swim. She 
called them to her and said, "Quack, quack!" which meant "Attention, 
children ! " and then she put her head far down under water. After she 
came up, the ducklings put their heads under water, in the same way. 
Then she took a deep dive, and swam a little under water, but only one 
duckling was brave enough to do that. So they both tried it again, and 
the duckling who could dive was so proud of what he could do that he 
kept diving all the time, and helped his mother very much in teaching 
the others. 

By and by, all the little ducklings had learned to dive and swim under 
water, except the very biggest one. But his mother would not let him stop 
learning. She chased him all about the pond, flapping and quacking, 
while all the little ducklings quacked, and even the swans became excited, 
and the black-headed ducks ran off in a fright ; and at last, when the 
naughty duckling found it was of no use to disobey his mother, he flopped 
under the water and swam farther than any of the others. Then all was 
quiet again, and Mother Duck taught her children how to stretch them- 
selves, and stand on tip-toe, and flap the water from their wings, and dry 
themselves off after a swim. She showed them how to comb out their 
feathers with their bills, and how to smooth their breast-feathers. After the 
lesson, the whole family went to sleep, and Mother Duck tucked her head 
under her wing, as if she felt she had done her duty. 

Next day all the little ducks were swimming about by themselves, and 
now they are as jolly little swimmers and quackers as you can find anywhere. 

i88 5 . 







A BRIGHT June welcome to you, my friends ! 
And now for 


My birds tell me of a curious thing known as the 
ink-plant. It grows somewhere in South America 
(who knows exactly where ?), and the juice can be 
used for ink as soon as it is squeezed from the 
plant. Perhaps some of the young folks living in 
South America will tell us something about this 
wonderful vegetable production. 


Dear Jack : Will you please ask your congre- 
gation if any of them ever saw a rainbow in the 
night ? 

A year ago last October, a friend and I went to 
spend the evening at a neighbor's house. While 
we were there a heavy rain-storm, with wind and 
lightning, came on, and lasted till nearly eleven 
o'clock. It was still raining slightly when we 
started home, but the heaviest of the clouds had 
just passed over to the east when the moon, which 
was nearly full, suddenly came out in plain view 
low in the west, and then we saw a beautiful 
rainbow ! It was of a brilliant white, and it lasted 
a minute or more, till a cloud drifted over the 
moon and ended the show. 

I have never seen nor read of another moon- 
rainbow, and I think they must be very rare. 

An Iowa Farmer. 

more about ants. 

Yonkeks, N. Y., March 10, 1885. 

Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: I read St. Nicholas every month, 
and think it very nice. I saw a question in it (in Fehruary or No- 
vember, I think) about ants. Last summer we had an ant city tsize 
about sixty square feet) in one of our garden terraces. It was bur- 
rowed all over, and looked like an immense honey-comb. We tried 
everything we could think of to kill them. Kerosene oil did it, and 
millions were killed every day. 

We wondered what they did with their dead, so we watched. 

The live ones would take two dead ones each, and drag them up 
the steps to the next to the top, leave the dead ones there, and go 
back for more. When the step was nearly full they would stop. 
I hen they would get some grains of sand and put them on top of 
the dead ones till they were all covered. Then they would fill the 
next step, and so on. This they kept up for two or three weeks, and 
then they stopped, until we put more kerosene on ; then they 
would go to work again. 

Some of the ants got food for the others while they were working. 
I remain, W. G. S., Jr. 

February 20, 1885. 
Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : I hope it is not too late to write con- 
cerning the ants G. M. B. asks about. My mother and I have seen 
two ants, each three-fourths of an inch long, carrying a dead ant 
between them. I do not know what they did with it, but 1 do know 
that I once watched an ant eat another one, and I have seen them 
eat bees of all kinds. 

Your constant reader, H. C. Williams. 


"How many hundred answers to the Golden 
Gate question have you received ? " asks Bertha 
Rowell, in her letter on the subject. Well, really, 
Bertha, your Jack can't say. He has "lost count"; 
but certainly, if old King Solomon was correct when 
he said, " In a multitude of counselors there is 
safety," then Jack should be as wise on this San 
Francisco question as good King Solomon himself, 
or as all the owls that ever blinked. It is almost as 
hard to fit a key to the Golden Gate as it was to 
wind the right note on the Golden Horn. But here 
is what some of this multitude of counselors say. 

Of course, the California boys and girls ought to 
be the best authority on this question ; and, as 
Sidney P., who writes from San Francisco, says, 
"The California boys' chance to ' come out strong' 
has arrived." So California shall lead off in the 
answers. Bertha L. Rowell explains that "the 
Golden Gate is a beautiful strait, about a mile wide, 
connecting the Bay of San Francisco with the 
Pacific Ocean. At the right of the entrance is 
Point Lobos, and at the left Point Bonita. These 
points are familiarly known as ' the Heads.' This 
strait derived its name of the Golden Gate from 
the fact that it is the entrance to the ' land of 
gold,' — the El Dorado, — as it was through this 
gate-way that the gold-seekers, in 1849, entered the 
harbor of San Francisco from the sea." Sidney 
P. says much the same, and adds that "the strait 
is about a mile and a half wide, and every evening 
it is beautifully tinged with the golden rays of the 
sun, which sets in the ocean directly behind it." 
Sidney declares that he once heard some New 
York people ask, when they first saw this channel, 
" Where is the gate ? " and he says that he really 
hopes " none of the St. Nicholas readers imagine 
there is a gate to open and shut ! " 

Alice M. Rambo's letter says : " Many persons 
think the Golden Gate is so called because it is the 
entrance to the ' Golden State ' of California, but 
it is not so. Long years ago, when the Spaniards 
first came to California, as they sailed through the 
entrance to the harbor of San Francisco, they 
looked back through the narrow passage and saw 
the beautiful, golden-hued sunset in the Pacific 
Ocean. And they called the passage-way the 
Golden Gate." Isabel Clarke, who is eleven this 
month, sends both the explanations already given, 
and says that the St. Nicholas readers may 

J A C K - I N - T H E - P U L P IT 

choose the one they think the more probable. 
Ernestine S. Haskell says the Golden Gate is an 
every-day sight to her, and that the reason gener- 
ally given for its name is because it is the entrance 
to the land of gold — now the land of golden grain. 
She says : " It was through this gate that I watched 
the ' Jeannette ' sail to its fate, and saw the ' Tokio ' 
bringing home General Grant from his tour around 
the world." 

These are all San Francisco boys and girls; and 
here is James Alexander Barclay, of Merced, Cal., 
who says that the name was given because of the 
great wealth of the State to which it was the sea- 

Going as far in the other direction for an an- 
swer, here is H. von Sobbe, of Liverpool, England, 
who says that " the Bay of San Francisco is gen- 
erally called the most beautiful bay in the world. 
It faces the west and receives the glory of the set- 
ting sun, and hence the entrance is called the 
Golden Gate." Violet Campbell, who is ten years 
old, writes from Kingston, Canada, to say that 
"the entrance to the harbor of San Francisco is 
between two big rocks, and as the sun sets just 
opposite these rocks, the reflection makes the 
water between these rocks look just like gold. It 
is not a real gate, though it is called the Golden 
Gate." Susy Lewis, of Hyde Park, 111., says " it is 
called a gate because it affords safe passage for 
ships, and is called golden because the setting sun, 
seen between the hills on either side, looks like a 
golden ball." Clarence A. C, of Mount Hope, 
N. Y., says that as the narrow passage into the Bay 
of San Francisco is " the only opening on the west- 
ern side of the United States and leads in among the 

gold regions, it is called the Golden Gate." Emily 
S. Walker, of Hinsdale, Mass., who is twelve years 
old, grows poetical on the subject and gives her 
answer in this wise to Jane's question : 

" Dear Jane : Your question has troubled me of late, 
To find what is called the Golden Gate. 
On the coast of California State 
San Francisco is situate. 

To reach its harbor you pass through a strait, 
And that is called the Golden Gate." 

Hattie V . Woodard, of Osage, Iowa, thinks that 
the entrance to San Francisco harbor is called the 
Golden Gate because it is shaped like a gate-way, 
and because it is the most western part of the 
United States; and she adds that "in one of 
Whitticr's poems it is spoken of as the ' Golden 
Gate of Sunset.' " 

These replies show you what most of the boys 
and girls have to say about the Golden Gate. Of 
course Jack can't begin to publish all the answers, 
so he lets you see these, and thanks all those who 
have written him in reply to Jane Elva B.'s ques- 
tion, including: Agnes M. Bristow, Harry J. 
Childs, Sam Bissell, " Violet," Willie E. Caveny, 
Mary McLean, Lotta B., F. T., Helen M. Dud- 
ley, Walter I. Cooper, W. T., A. B. Linch, 
Mamie Dudley, J. A. C, Virginia Holbrook, Geo. 
Willis Cummings, Nena C. A., W. S. Johnson, 
Ellie and Susie, C. E. S., Alice E. Hubbard, 
Stuart M. Beard, Schuyler E. Day, Nannie Duff, 
Fred. H. H., Carrie L. Land, Harry Taylor, 
Helen L. D., Karl S. Harbaugh, H. E. B., Minnie 
May, Anna Hammond, and George S. Strong, 
David Foster, Emily A. Whiston, and very many 





Contributors are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the 15th of September, manuscripts can not conveniently be 

examined at the office of St. Nicholas. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with contributions 

will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date. 

Ol'R thanks are due to the proprietors of The Field, 346 Strand, 
London, England, for their kind permission to reproduce in St. 
Nicholas the pictures which form the illustrations to " The Royal 
Game of Tennis," in this number. 

" Helen's Prize Dinner," the story which won the second prize 
in the recent competition for the best story for girls written by a 
girl, appears in this number, beginning on page 609. 


Florida, Mar., '85. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have taken you for a long time, but have 
never written to you before; so I hope you will find room for my 
letter. I have a great many little chickens, which 1 feed with bread 
and milk and hard-boiled eggs while they are very small. When 
they were first hatched I tied little ribbons around their necks, and 
they did not mind, but some larger chickens tried to pick them off. 
It was very cunning. It is very warm here now. 

Your loving reader, RlTlE. 

Milwaukee, Feb. 9, 1885. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I would like to tell the boys about some- 
thing I play nearly every day. I take a long piece of fine wood and 
whittle it into a sword ; I then take off my shoes and put on a pair 
of overalls over my trousers and stockings, put on a pair of stockings, 
roll them down to my ankles, put a pair of slippers on, put a strap 
around my waist for a belt, put my sword in this belt, and play I 
am a knight of old. 

Your faithful reader, George A. 

Buffalo, N. Y., Feb. 11, 1885. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have taken the St. Nicholas for more 
than two years, and I like it very much. I have a sister older than 
myself, and two younger sisters. My elder sister, Ida, and I attend 
the Normal school. I have two grandpas, and they both have farms 
in the country. Every summer I go out in the country to spend my 
vacation. We generally have ten weeks' vacation, and I divide the 
time equally between the two places. I ride horseback a great deal 
and use the saddle Mamma had when she was a little girl. Ida is 
thirteen, I am eleven, Jessie is eight, and Georgians is three. I have 
an Aunt Carrie ; she lives in the country ; she is fourteen years old. 
Last summer, when I was out in the country, we all went down the 
lane and took some lunch with us and built a little stove out of 
bricks, and baked some potatoes and apples, and ate our dinner there ; 
we had a very nice time. I expect to go there again this summer, 
and I suppose I will have fun, as I always do. Good-bye. 

From your friend, Helen B. J. 

Cairo, III., Feb. 17, '85. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I want to tell you all about my happiness. 
I have been taking the St. Nicholas for over a year and found it 
very interesting. St. Valentine's was my birthday; I was fifteen 
years old, and what do you suppose was my present ? My kind papa 
and mamma had the numbers of St. Nicholas bound into a book, 
and a handsome one it is. My favorite stories are : " Davy and the 
Goblin" and "His One Fault." Yours, 

Ronald W. 

Dunullun-Brookville, St. John, N. B., Feb. 8, 1885. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I thought, as so many wrote to you, that 
you could find room for my letter. I live five miles out from the 
city ; it is pleasant here all the year round. We have a great many 
picnics in the summer, and we go boating and bathing, and have 
splendid fun I have a dog that came from the Highlands of Scotland. 
I have been to England and Scotland, and have found both beautiful. 
We visited Ayr, and went to see Burns's cottage; it was so very 
small the windows were only a foot square. There is a beautiful 
monument, which was put up in memory of the great poet, in 
the lower part. They sell little wooden things made of the wood 
which grew on the banks of the Doon. 

1 remain, yours truthfully, Ethel K. M. 

Dear St. 
after school, 
next highest 
through the 
fond of you. 
lin " and " 
took Dandy 

Independence, Mo., Feb. 5, 1885. 
Nicholas : I read you whenever I can, in the evenings 
on Saturdays, and on Sundays. At school I am in the 
room, and am trying to fit myself for college when I get 
public schools. I read every word in you, and am very 
Your best stories are, I think. "Davy - and the Gob- 
His One Fault." I was so sorry that Cassius Branlow 
Jim away and changed him for another horse. 

Hickman P. 

Chicago, 1885. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little girl ten years old, and like 
your stories very much. I was very much interested in Miss Alcott's 
" Spinning-wheel Stories." At school we read in you instead of a 
reader, and my teacher likes you ever so much. 

Your admirer, Ruth J. B. 

Lancaster, N. Y., Jan. 2, 1885. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have intended to write before, but I have 
not had time, as I go to school. There was a funny thing happened 
not very far from our house on a farm ; there was a white cat and it 
had some white kittens, there was also a hen sitting on some eggs; 
they were both in the barn. So one morning when one of the family 
went out to see the kittens, what should they see but the hen on the 
kittens and the cat on the eggs. That day they did not disturb 
them, but went back to the house. The next day they found them 
the same. And the next day they went out and took the old hen off 
the kittens and thev found them most dead. They took the cat and 
put her on the kittens. And I guess she saw her mistake, for she 
never left them again. Perhaps some may not believe this story true, 
but it is. I remain ever your constant reader and friend, 

Estellf. H. 

Stamford, Conn. 
Dear St, Nicholas: I have a goat, and her name is Nancy- 
She is very intelligent. Once when I was hitching her up to my 
wagon 1 felt something pulling my dress, and when I looked around 
I found that Nancy had been chewing on my dress. Perhaps you 
think I 'm a boy, but I 'm not ; I 'm a girl, and my name is 


Russell, Shell River, Manitoba, Feb. 7, '85. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I dare say you will be surprised to find that 
the St. Nicholas magazine has found its way up to "the wild 
North-West," " the Great Lone Land " (by the by, it is not such a 
very lonely place). We live quite close to a little village called Rus- 
sell. I am very much interested in the story by J. T. Trowbridge, 
" His One Fault." I intend to make a salt crystal glass. I half made 



one, but it was so cold I had to keep it under the stove ; but it was a 
bother, and I must wait till the summer. And now, dear St. 
Nicholas, hoping that you will put this in, as it is my first letter, 
I am your loving little reader, 


Enterprise, Kansas. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Here comes a Jayhawker to have a little 
chat with you and the circle. I have always lived in sunny Kansas, 
on a farm. 1 live about eighteen miles from the exact center of the 
United States, The prairies, in spring, look most beautiful, the 
grass so green, and so many pretty flowers, of so many colors. Blue 
and white daisies come first, and they are eagerly hunted for by us 
children, as we go to school. We keep our teacher's desk well sup- 
plied with bouquets. I like to go to school, and I like to read better. 
I like the stories, " His One Fault," "Driven Back to Eden," and I 
don't know what I don't like in them. I am eleven years old. I 
have three sisters and two brothers. One day at school the teacher 
asked a boy in my class what they made out of ivory, and he said 
ivory soap. My teacher is the best teacher I ever went to. I 
never wrote a letter to a paper or a magazine before. I will stop. 
Well, good-bye to the readers of the St. Nicholas. I send my 
love to all, from one who would read all the time if she could. 

Grace L. 

Colorado Springs, Colorado, Jan. 27, 1885. 
Dear St. Nicholas : When 1 was a little girl we used to sing 
our multiplication table, the States and their capitals, and the kings 
and queens of England. Gail Hamilton's charming versification 
this month brought the old rhymes and tunes to my mind again. I 
wish I could give you the tune, but here is the old rhyming list 
which we sang, as we stood, hand in hand, before our old teacher, 
swaying back and forth as we sang. 

Very truly your devoted admirer, L. F. 

Kings and Queens of England. 

First William the Norman, 

Then William, his son ; 

Henry, Stephen, and Henry, 

And Richard and John. 

Then Henry the Third, 

Edwards one, two, and three, 

And again, after Richard, 

Three Henrys we see. 

Two Edwards, third Richard, 

If rightly I guess ; 

Two Henrys, sixth Edward, 

Queen Mary, Queen Bess. 

Then Jamie, the Scotchman, 

Then Charles, whom they slew ; 

But received after Cromwell 

Another Charles too. 

James, Second, the Stuart, ascended the throne; 

And William and Man* together came on 

Queen Anne, Georges "four, 

And fourth William, all past, 

God sent us Victoria, may she long be the last. 

fectly magnificent; for instance, " The Philopena," '" The Queen's 
Museum," "The Magician's Daughter, "and "The Floating Prince." 
I am very sorry " The Spinning-wheel " stories have come to an end. 
" What Wakes the Flowers'/ " in the March number, is very pretty 
I am going to speak it in school. 

Ever your constant reader, Elizabeth C. 

East Aurora. 
Dear St. Nicholas: This is the first letter I have ever written 
to you, and I hope to sec it printed. We have taken you for six 
years, and I think you are very nice. I have never read much of 
you until lately. The stories and pictures of the " Brownies " I 
think are very- funny. I noticed in every one of them a dude and 
a policeman. Yours truly, Mary B. 

La Crosse, Wis. 

Dear St. Nicholas: A literal translation of George W. Stearns's 
letter, in the March number of St. Nicholas, is : 

There was a man in the city, and he was very wise, and rushing 
into thorns, he was deprived of his eyes. I will say that, when he 
perceived himself to be blind, rushing into other thorns he got his 
eyes. A free translation is the nursery rhyme: 

"' There was a man in our town. 
And he was wondrous wise/' etc. 

Yours truly, Geo. H. S. 

Chenango Forks, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I wrote these verses when I was nine 

years old. I was herding fifty cows in the corn-stalks, out in 
Nebraska, when I thought them out. I am ten now. We children 
have taken St. Nicholas for four years, and we think it splendid. 
Your friend, Chaincey C. 

The Brave Soldier. 

The cows were grazing in the field, - 
A soldier crouched behind a shield,— 
When suddenly an arrow flew, 
And split the largest cow in two. 

The other cows were awful mad, 
And said it really was too bad; 
The soldier hid behind a stone, 
For cows' homs are made of bone. 

Catskill, April 1, 1885. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am having lots of fun, fooling people. 
I told my little sister this morning to say to Papa : " Look on the 
wall ; is not that a funny shadow ''. — April fool ! " When Papa came 
in, she cried, " Aper foo ! " which made us all laugh. Three years 
ago, when we were in Gardiner, Maine. Papa said one morning: 
" See the boats on the river! " We looked, but did not see any boats. 
Then Papa said, '' April fool! " "It is the 31st of March," said 
Mamma, as she looked at the calendar. 

I love you so much, dear St. Nicholas. I run for you the min- 
ute you come. Your devoted reader, G. H. C. 

Boston, Feb. 15, 1885. 
Dear St. Nicholas: We are two little sisters, and our home is 
in the Far West. We are spending the winter in Boston. Our aunt 
is very kind ; yet we miss our mother, and the rambling life we have 
heretofore led, so different from the life one leads in the East. Auntie 
takes the St. Nicholas, and we sit in the parlor and pore over it in 
the long winter evenings. We hope you will print this, as it is our 
first letter. 

Your ever admiring friends. 


Buffalo, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas : In one number of St. Nicholas you 
printed a story called "Margaret's Favor Book," and some of us 
little girls got up a society called the " F. B. S. " (Favor Book 
Society), and we each had a little book, in which we wrote, even' 
night, the favors we had received during the day. We each had 
a motto which we wrote on the first page of our book, and badges. 
We had a meeting even' Saturday, and the president read aloud all 
the favors which had been received during the week. But we had 
to give the society up a little while ago, because most of the mem- 
bers moved away. I thought, perhaps, some of your readers would 
like to have such a society. I remain your faithful reader, 

Blanche D. 

Adrian, Mich, 

Dear St. Nicholas: As I have not seen any letters from 

Adrian, I thought I would write one. I am a little girl, only nine 

years old, so you must not expect a very good letter trom me. I 

think Louisa Alcott's tales are lovely, and Frank Stockton's are per- 

Providence, R. I. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I send you these lines, which I cut from 
the Congregationalist. hoping that you would print them, as I 
thought they would interest many of your readers. I have taken 
you, dear St. Nicholas, ever since you were born, and I am only 
four years older than you are. 

Your constant reader, Lizzie C B. 

" Even' body who sings or hears sung Bums's pretty song of 
'Coming Through the Rye' is apt to picture to himself a field of 
thic grain through which the lassies are seen coming. This con- 
ception is now said to be incorrect, the reference being to a small 
stream in Ayrshire called the Rye. It was easily waded, but the 
lassies in going across would have to hold up the skirts of their 
dresses. While in this attitude, mischievous lads like Robbie Burns 
would wade out and snatch a kiss, which the lassies would be 
obliged to allow, or else let their skirts fall into the water." 

Louisville, Ky. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I have never seen a letter from Falls City 
in the Letter-box, and hope that this one may find a place there. 

Louisville, which claims to have about 120,000 inhabitants, is a 
very- pretty town, situated on one of the widest parts of the Ohio 
River. We have here the Southern Exposition, which is said to be 
one of the largest in the world. I am very much interested in all 
your stories, and wait impatiently for the 26th of each month, which 
is my "St. Nicholas Day." 

I wonder if any of your readers have ever ridden on a tandem 
tricycle. I guess the Prince of Naples, the Crown Prince of Russia, 

6 3 6 



and many of your European friends have. I have, at least, and had 
quite a nice time. As it was my first attempt, I had to learn to keep 
my feet on the pedals, which seemed quite hard at first. 
Your constant reader and faithful friend, 

Mary S. 

Topsfield, Mass. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you five or six years, and like 
you better every year. Last summer I called on Mr. Whittier, and 
asked him to write in my autograph album. He was in his study, 
which opens from the dining-room by folding-doors. There was a 
fine picture of Mr. Longfellow on the wall, and a desk, at which, 
I suppose, Mr. Whittier writes some of his poems 

I am thirteen years old. I have a pug dog, of which I am very 
fond. Your constant reader, A. E. J. 

Pittsburgh, Pa. 
Dear St. Nicholas : We have been taking your magazine for 
three years, and have found it the best for young folk. There are 
three of us reading your St. Nicholas, and when it arrives we have 
quite a hard time in deciding which is to have it first. 
We remain, your dear readers, 

Fred and Will K. 

Hotel Continental, 3 Rue Castiglione, \ 
Paris, France. ) 
My Dear Old St. Nicholas : I have been taking you for nearly 
seven years, but have never given myself the pleasure of writing 10 
you. I am a little American girl of thirteen. I have been living in 
Switzerland for the last three years. I speak French better than 
English, but I am very glad to say that I am on my way home. I 
am now staying in the beautiful city of Paris. I have already seen 

lots of old churches and palaces six or seven hundred years old. 
The other day we went to see a palace which was built by King 
Louis IX. in the thirteenth century, now the Palais de Justice. 
Attached to it is La Sainte Chapelle, still the most beautiful in 
Paris. The windows in it are made of gorgeous colorings, and the 
floor is made of mosaic, with the emblems of France and Spain on 
it (lefleur de lis), I also saw Napoleon's tomb at the Hotel des 
Invalides. I have been to a great many other places, which I 
should like to tell you about, but it would take up too much of your 
precious space, so I must say good-bye. The May number of your 
dear magazine I hope to read in my native land. 

Always your affectionate reader, Marie L. C. 

We can only acknowledge the receipt of the pleasant letters sent us 
by the following young friends: Lu H., Laura Larimer, Pet Kinneand 
Teenie S. Haskell, "Robert R. Peebles, Tony T., Ernest E., "Gol- 
dilocks," Maud, Frousie, Julia Mintzer, Clara E. Veader. Maggie M. 
Murray, Ellie T. Hitchcock, Mary M. B., J. Alice Gernaud and 
Roberta Owens, Florence Willard, Louise M. Johnson, H. E. C, 
Rose, George Nicholas, Thomas Hill, Emily, Elsie H., Oman 
Ramsden, Bertha Cross, Willie and James Armstrong, Amos P. Fisk, 
Ethel M., Valliant Turner, Louise Joynes, E. M. T., Charlie Leon- 
ard, Grace E. Chambers, Mary Brotherton, "Janet," Lottie G. Day, 
Josie B. Ervay, Maud H. and Nellie R., G. Beyer, Amy F. C, 
Lousia Kausch, Sidney M. Hauptman, Charlie Faulkner, Grace 
Williams. Blanche and Lotta, E. Hagemann, Mahle Harvey, Milton 
Frank, Maria Sykes, G. E. M., Lizzie Parks, Ella Brookings, Orra 
H. Ring, M. J. E., Lilian Trask, Will Smiley, Fred. H. D., Grade 
I., Clemence Frank, Ethel Watts, and Rex Dickinson. 


Award of Prizes. 

The contest for the prizes offered last Novem- 
ber for the best drawings of snow-crystals has not 
been so spirited as we hoped. Still, some very 
excellent work has been done, and some very 
beautiful forms observed. The first prize was 
easily taken by Chapter 742, Jefferson, Ohio, A. E. 
Warren, Secretary. We may give engravings of 
these drawings at a later da}-. 

The second prize was awarded to Miss L. V. 
Makrille, of Washington, D. C. 

Mr. R. H. Keep, of Norwich, Conn., won the 
third prize, and Mr. C. H. Paddock, of Chapter 
613, Winooski, Vt., the fourth. The next five sets 
were so nearly equal in merit, that it was decided 
to rank them all alike, and to award a prize of equal 
value to each one of the five. The names of the 
successful five, arranged alphabetically, are : 

Miss Julia Dwight. President of Chapter 579, 
Hadley, Mass. ; Miss Edith C. Hohncs (a corre- 
sponding member of the Central Association of 
Lenox), Auburn, N. Y. ; Miss Alice Heustis, of 
Chapter 729, Boston, Mass. ; Henry A. Stewart, 
of Chapter 489, Gettysburg, Pa. ; Theodore G. 
White, New-York City. 

A study of the drawings received tends to con- 
firm the statement of the books that water crystal- 
lizes in six-pointed figures, or at the least, in stars 

having each either three points or a multiple of 
three. Still (as was the case last year) a few draw- 
ings showing four and five pointed crystals were sent 
in, and a very feu- showing seven and eight angles. 
The four-pointed figures are readily accounted for, 
on the supposition that two rays have been broken 
off. Here is one (Fig. 1.), for example, in which 
the hexagonal form is readily restored 
by the addition of a perpendicular 
cross line. But what shall we say of 
the forms shown in Figures 2 and 3 ? 
It should be stated, however, that 
forms occurred in the 
sets that were most 
carelessly drawn. p- 

The only approach to 
irregularity that occurs 
ina prizeset isthatshown «g 5 

in Figure 4, and found 

during a high wind, in Washington, D. 
C. In this case the six points appear, 
and the angles are correct. The follow- 
ing extract from the letter accompanying 
. one of the best sets submitted, may 

throw some light on the question : 

"In regard to this snow-crystal drawing, don't you think it im- 
possible to make a fair drawing by just looking at the object, and 
then putting it down from memory-? By doing so, one could fix up 




an extremely fascinating little picture, because he would be led on 
from making a little touch here to adding another there, till he 
thought there could n't have been any more lines, and then he has an 
exaggerated, and almost half " made-up " picture. Merely to catch 
a glimpse of one of these frail forms before it melts, and then 
to try to picture it accurately, is more or less unsatisfactory, so far 
as truth goes. It was very cold sitting outdoors before breakfast, 
drawing these crystals, but I did not see any other honest way 
out of it. So I can say truthfully, they are as nearly natural as they 
could be made by a fellow holding his pencil with almost numb 
fingers, and a mitten on at that. " 

Now that boy has the true scientific spirit, and 
the hearty love for truth that must characterize 
every earnest student. 

It will not do for us to leave the question thus. 
Next winter we must try once more — all of us. 
We must get a thousand sketches and lay them 
side by side. We must have them all made as 
conscientiously as possible, and that, too, not for 
the sake of a prize, but from that anxiety to learn 
the exact truth with regard to a crystal of water, 
which must be finding its way by this time into 
the mind of every member of the A. A. who has 
the least inclination toward mineralogy. By the 
way, this question was sent in a few days ago : 
" Is water a mineral ? " 

What do you think about it? 

Before giving a summary of Chapter reports, we 
have the pleasure of offering an extract from a 
letter of Professor H. T. Cresson, 224 South Broad 
street, Philadelphia, who has aided us in the de- 
partment of Ethnology : 

" I do not consider it any trouble to answer questions that may be 
directed to me ; on the contrary, it affords me great pleasure. The 
thought occurs to me that some of our friends in the Indian districts 
could send us valuable information about that much-neglected 
branch of ethnology, Indian music, both vocal and instrumental. 
With best wishes for the success of the Association, 

" H. T. Cresson." 

Read also this from Professor Putman-Cramer, 
of Brooklyn : 

" You are, perhaps, aware that we have here an Entomological 

Society, boasting some forty members, among them some prominent 
entomologists. As president of that society fur the current year, I 
express, I am sure, the opinions of the society when I say that we 
should be glad to see any member or members of the A. A. at our 
monthly meetings, which are held on the first Tuesday of each 
month in the Polytechnic Institute, Livingstone street, near Court 
street, at 8 p. m." 

This invitation is one that no member of the 
A. A. interested in entomology, and able to accept, 
can afford to slight. Even if one is not a student of 
insect life he can learn much about methods of work, 
and the ways of conducting scientific meetings, by 
observing how these things are done by experts. 

In addition to the chemists whose offers of aid 
have already appeared in St. Nicholas, we are 
pleased to give the address of Mr. Charles P. 
Worcester, Newtonville, Mass., who will cheerfully 
answer such questions as may be sent him. 

Reports from Chapters. 

275, Washington, D. C.(JC). I saw a wasp and a Hessian fly 
fighting. The fly killed the wasp. At another time I saw a fly, 
with red eyes and an abdomen checked with green, attack and kill a 
good-sized dragon-fly. The electric lights on the dome of the Capi- 
tol attract many insects. Our rarest specimens have been caught 
there. The large water-beetle (Dynastictts marginatus ) has been 
found in large numbers. This is rather high for them. I once saw 
it stated as a rare incident that o?te had been found on a two-story 
house about thirty feet high. I have found as many as twenty- 
five in one morning at least three hundred and forty-five feet from 
the ground. Water-scorpions, wheel-bugs and other Jie7>iiptcra, 
bees, flies, various ncuruptera, and all kinds of nocturnal iepidoptera 
are found there. — Alonzo H. Stewart, Sec. 

286, Stockport^ N. Y. One of our members has seen red squirrels 
and chipmunks swimming. — W. J. Fisher, Sec. 

56, St. Johnsbury, Vt. We have been slowly growing since we 
began with four members, until now we have twenty-four, all active 
workers. The principal of our academy has given us a fine cabinet, 
of which we are very proud. — Thornton B. Penfield, Sec. 

638, St. Louis (D). Our members are exceptionally united in 
study. We have raised our initiation fee to one dollar, so that we 
may be sure of obtaining members who take a live interest in 
nature. During less than a year more than fifty essays have been 
read, seven lectures delivered, and we have had two select readings 
at each meeting. — Frank M. Davis, Sec. 

485, Brooklyn, Ohio. We have now twenty-six members. We are 
fortunate in having among us a few who have studied special 
branches, and also in having near us professors who are interested 
in our work. We are studying zoology. We began with Proto- 
zoans, and are taking each of the sub-kingdoms in order. For 
particular work, our affections are divided between entomology and 
botany. — F. H. Pelton. 

556, Philadelphia (R). I have used the following arrangement 
for cultivating molds : I take a glazed stone jar, and fill it with rich 
earth, which must be kept slightly damp. On this I place the 
"bait" — cheese or bread, or some substance that will mold. This 
I cover with a small flower-pot. Then I set the whole in a warm 
place for a few days. Such beauties as some of the common molds 
appear under the microscope truly make one forget time, place, hun- 
ger, and cold. Some which I found growing on blackberry jam 
were especially beautiful, resembling tea-roses scattered through 
brown moss. — Wm. E. McHenry, Sec. 

600, Galveston, Texas. We have entered upon a new year with 
new hopes. During the last three months we have had twelve very 
interesting papers and six select readings. — Philip C. Tucker, jr., Sec. 

480, Baltimore) Md. (F). Professor Riley, the entomologist of the 
Agricultural Department, had kindly promised to show us some part 
of his collection of insects. 1 1 is hard to say which gave us the more 
pleasure — recognizing old friends among the moths and beetles, or 
the sight of strange tropical insects, with gaudy wings and mon- 
strous forms. When I remind you that this is a chapter of girls, 
you will not be surprised to learn that there was a constant chorus 
of " oh ! 's." — Miss R. Jones, Sec. 

440, Keene, N. H. We have ten moth-proof boxes for insects; 
also, a compound microscope and an aquarium. We go out on the 
hills hunting moths and cocoons. The latter we found most easily 
when snow was on the ground, as the leaves were off the bushes. — 
Frank H. Foster, Sec. 

136, Columbia, Pa. Our room is large, and there are blackboards 
on two sides of it. On these our botanists illustrate their topics by 
drawings. Our specimens are placed on printed cards. The re- 
ports in St. Nicholas stimulate chapters to renewed energy in hope 
of seeing their own reports there, — James C. Meyers, Sec. 


We wish to exchange soil of N. Y. or N. J. for any other. — W. 
W. Allen, Sec. 771. Box 12, Sloatsburg, N. Y. 

Will someone exchange dried ferns with me? — Win. Wardrop, 
Gowan Cottage, Linlithgow, Scotland. 

Copper ore, for fossils and insects. — C. F. McLean. 3120 Calumet 
Avenue, Chicago, III. 

I am interested in botany and geology, and should like to cor- 
respond with some one who would have patience with a beginner 
who is also an invalid. — Mrs. A. H. Robinson, 13 Gorham street, 
Madison, Wis. 

Alligators' teeth, banana leaves, orange blossoms, Spanish moss, 
etc., for bird skins or eggs. — Percy S. Benedict, Sec. 331, 1243 St. 
Charles Avenue, New Orleans, La. 

Correspondence with distant chapters. — Wm. H. Plank, Wyan- 
dotte. Kans. 

A fine specimen of fossil coral, ^in.x 1 in., and pieces of petrified 
leaves and wood. — C. A. Jenkins, Sec. 447, Chittenango, N. Y. 

We desire to correspond with Western chapters. — James S. Pray, 
Sec. 686, Lunenburg, Mass. 

Marine shells of Northern New England, for those of Southern or 
Western coast, or for minerals. — H. E. Sawyer, Sec. 112,37 Gates 
street, So. Boston, Mass. 

6 3 8 



New Chapters 



No. Name. No. of Mem 

799 Fayetteville, N. Y. (A).... 13 

800 Bryn Mawr, Pa. (A) 6 

801 Norristown, Pa. (B) 6 

802 Brooklyn, N. V. (L) 8 

803 Wyandotte, Kans. (A) .... 10 
S04 Richmond, Ind. (A) 6 

805 Philadelphia, Pa. (EM 5. 

806 Morristown, N. J. (A) .... 7. 

807 Burlington, Iowa (A) 4. 

808 Lisbon Center, Me. (A) 6. 

809 Milwaukee, Wis. (F) 16. 

810 Orchard Park, N. Y. (A) . .30 

811 Nyack-on-Hudson, N. Y. 

(A) 7 

812 Davenport, Iowa, (C) 24 

Waupaca, Wis. (A) 5 

Roxbury, Mass. (A) 4 

Brooklyn, N. Y. (M) 4 

Cambridge, Mass. (A) .... 5 
Philadelphia, Pa. <F') . . . 8 

818 Newark, N. J. (D) . 

bcrs. Address. 

, .C. W. Austin, 

.W. H. Miller. 

.H.A. Fulmer,Box2o(Fulmer). 

.J. R. Swecney,S8 Middagh St. 

,W. H. Plank. 

Jessie S. Reeves, 

222 N. 10th St. 
.C. E. Oram, 1620 Brown St. 

.James Chambers, Box 69. 

.Cary Carper, 815 N. 7th St. 

Wilbur Ham. 

.Miss Louise Jones, 

816 Marshall St. 
Mrs. E. M. Husted. 

,C. S. Brownell, 
.Amos Spencer, 

14th and Famam Sts. 
.Richard M. Gibson. 
. Frank Hersey, 

3088 Washington St, 
H. S. Hadden, 69 Remsen St. 
. Robert L. Raymond, 5 Lee St. 
.W. P. Ciesson, Jr., 

224 S. Broad St. 
. Pennington Satterthwaite, 

2 West Park St. 






Name. No. of Members. Address. 

Hinsdale, 111. (A) 10 . . Fred. A. Menge, 





Boston, Mass, (G) - 
New Bedford, Mass. 
Ogden, Ohio, (A) .. 
Farmdale, Ky. (A) . 

Fall River, Mass. (B) . . . 
Greensburg, Pa. (A) 
Newark, California (A) . 

(Du Page Co.) 
. 4 . , T. H. Fay, Box 60. 
. . 5 . . Frederick, 247 Fourth St. 
. 5- -Cliff Hale. 

. .15. .Farmdale Chapter of the A. A., 
Box 58, K. M. I. 
. . 4. J. B. Richards, 8 Bamaby St. 
. . jo. .J. K. Johnston. 
. . 30 . . Miss Ollie Jarvis. 


Brooklyn, N. Y. (E, n. AD. Phillips, 167 S. 2d St. 

Cincinnati, O. (C). . . .Has joined 561, Cin., O. (B) 

Alphonse Heuck, Sec, care 
Heuck's Opera House. 


Philadelphia, Pa. <S) 3. .W. E. Walter. 

Present Secretary of 556 is Wm. E. McHenry, 1713 Oxford street, 
Philadelphia, Pa.,; and of 793, is Elmer Stoli, Box 454, Ashland, 
Address all communications for this department to 
Mr. Harlan H. Ballard, 

Principal of Lenox Academy, 

Lenox, Mass. 



What famous poet translated from the German the lines from 
which this " pi " is made ? 

Ojy dan prenematec nad sporee 
Smal het odor no eth codrot's osen. 

E. M. S. AND B. H. P. 


flower. 3. One who inquires narrowly. 4. Quite new. 5. Demo- 
lition. 6. The bony part of the teeth directly beneath the enamel. 
7. Reslrains. 8. Misery. 9. In " Lyon Hart." 

Left-hand Diamond: i. In " Hyperion." 2. The cry of a cat. 
3. Plays with dice. 4. An error. 5. A variety of the peach, with 
a smooth rind. 6. Having on. 7. Peels. 8. An abbreviation for a 
certain country. 9. In "Dycie." 

Central Square: i. A fall of hail or snow mingled with rain. 
2. To depart. 3. Impetuous. 4. Levels. 5. Concise. 


The above cross consists of four nine-letter diamonds, connected 
in the center by a five-letter word-square. The letter of each of the 
four diamonds which is nearest to the square helps to form the mid- 
dle word of the square. 

Upper Diamond: i. In "A. P. Owder, Jr." 2. A projecting 
part of a wheel. 3. Small fishes of the gudgeon kind. 4. To com- 
fort. 5. Pertaining to sparrows 6. The act of confining a ship to 
a particular place by means of anchors, etc. 7. A familiar contriv- 
ance for throwing stones. 8. An abbreviation for a certain country. 
9. In " Cyril Deane." 

Right-hand Diamond: r. In " Royal Tarr." 2. The plural of 
the yllable representing the second tone in the gamut. 3. Denomi- 
nations 4. Asylum. 5. Refreshes. 6. Fumed. 7. Surfeits. 8. 
To scatter. 9. In " Alcibiades." 

Lower Diamond: i. In "Rex Ford." 2. An undeveloped 

The central picture is a rebus, and 
letters. This forms the central word of t 
words are pictured around the rebus. 

a word of nine 
ass. The cross- 

i»8 5 .J 




Select five words concealed in the following sentences, and 
arrange them so that they will form a word-square. 

There was a youth from Posen selected for the dangerous journey. 
The dense undergrowth in the forest delayed him as he started. To 
have nobody see him grasp a decidedly rusty fowling-piece was consol- 
ing, to say the least. Gertrude. 


I. Across: i. In drawing. 2. Something steeped in liquid. 
3. To wander. 4. The Ottoman court. 5. A constellation of the 
zodiac. 6. To know. 7. In drawing. Downward: 1. A water- 
ing place. 2. A large bird. 3. Troubled. 4. A small plate. 5. An 
affirmation. II. Across: 1. In stranger, 2. A projection on a 
wheel. 3. Washed. 4. A Roman magistrate. 5. That part of a 
piece of wood which enters a mortise. 6. A number. 7. In 
stranger. Downward: 1. To permit. 2. A military pupil. 3. 
Gorges. 4. A fruit. 5. A cave. F. s. f. 


A territory belonging to the United States. 

In prognostication. 

1. Harmonies. 

3. A siesta. 4. An expression of inquiry. 


I am composed of one hundred and four letters, which form two 
lines from Longfellow's Tales of a Wayside Inn. 

My 63-93-15 is a beverage. My 51-36-54-23 is to whip. My 
60-25-72-12 is an elevation. My 5-27-56-102-78 is an important 
country of Asia. My 79-33-48-61 is part of a bellows. My 50-66- 
84-29-7 is to bewitch. My 41-13-99-75 is to stir. My 74-37-20-95 
is a message. My 90-43-17-45-22 is a musical composer. My 
77-32-68-34-9 is to change. My 71-88-38-1 is a clenched hand. 
My 39-81-86-96-55-100 is a long step. My 4-S2-62-16-104 is a 

hard outside covering. My 67-85-31-19 is a small bundle of straw. 
My 24-21-57-80-94-87 is an opening in the wall of a building. My 
70-3-58-10 is a masculine name. My 46-103-2-53-91-11-69 was 
the founder of Islam. My 44-83-59 is a snare. My 6-76-35-47-89- 
30-18 is an early spring flower. My 14-49-40—52-97-65 is another 
spring flower. My 64-73-98-8 is a summer flower. My 28-42-26- 
92-101 is a fall flower. "cornelia blimber," 


Mv firsts are in high, but not in low; 
My seconds, in bread, but not in dough; 
My thirds are in lark, but not in dove; 
My fourths, in slipper, but not in glove; 
My fifths are in bird, but not in lark; 
My sixths are in nut, but not in park ; 
My sevenths in taught you may find if you wish. 
Both of my answers name salt-water fish. 

MARION v. w. 


Cross-words (of equal length) : 1, A girl's name meaning 
"good" or "kind." 2. A boy's name meaning "fame of the 
land." 3. A girl's name meaning " the ruler of the house." 

Primals, to furnish with weapons; finals, a girl's name meaning 

" happiness." Primals and finals connected, a squadron. 



From 1 to 2, a kind of stone ; from 2 to 6, huge birds ; from 5 to 
6, fears ; from 1 to 5, failed ; from 3 to 4, to cuddle ; from 4 to 8, a 
boy's name ; from 7 to 8, wished ; from 3 to 7, a relative ; from 1 to 
3, human beings; from 2 to 4, part of the face ; from 6 to 8, sorrow- 
ful; from 5 to 7, moisture. albert w. (7 years old). 


Pi. When wake the violets, Winter dies; 

When sprout the elm-buds, Spring is near; 
When lilacs blossom, Summer cries, 
"Bud, little roses! Spring is here!" 

From " Spring Has Come.'" 
Diamond, i. P. 2. Pod. 3. Pared. 4. Portion. 5. Deign. 
6. Don. 7. N. 

A Novel Puzzle, i to 2, Grover Cleveland; from 3 to 4, 
Inauguration Day. Cross-words : 1. Dey. 2. Anear. 3. Aid. 
4. Lin. 5. Ego. 6. Avail. 7. Creator. 8. Fallacy. 9. Encored. 
10. Through. 1 1. Sleighs. 12. Devours. 13. Brocade. 14. Co- 
rinth. 15. English. 

Zigzag. Mayflowers. Cross-words: 1. Mary. 2. mAid. 3. 
baYs. 4. deaF. 5. siLk. 6. fOld. 7. Wolf. 8. wEed. 9. biRd. 
10. beeS. 

Numerical Enigma. 

The voice of one who goes before, to make 
The paths of June more beautiful, is thine, 
Sweet May ! 

Combination Acrostic. From 1 to 9, papally; 2 to 10, prim- 
ary ; 3 to 11. earnest ; 4 to 12, forever. The letters from 5 to 8 may 
be transposed to form name, amen, mean, and mane. 

Star Puzzle. From 1 to 3, plat; 2 to 3, riot ; 1 to 2, pear; 4 to 
5, melt ; 6 to 5, moat; 4 to 6, maim. 

Illustrated Double Diamond. Across: 
Tapir. 4. Ton. 5. N. Downward: 1. T. 

4. Gin. 5. R. 
Cross-word Enigma. Pansy. 
Syncopations and Beheadings. 

C-rime. 2. Sp-a-in. 3. Wh-e— at. 

Double Acrostics and Diagonals. Cross-words: 1. Fish. 
2. Alto. 3. Room. 4. Made. 

Word-squares. I. 1. Marsh. 2. Agate. 3. Racer. 4. Steed. 

5. Herds. II. 1. Erase. 2 Raven. 3. Avert. 4. Serve. 5. 

Inverted Pvramid, Across: 1. Chariot. 2. Educe. 3. Ale. 
4. E. 

1. C. 2. Rag. 3. 
2. Rat. 3. Capon. 

Caesar. Cross-words: 1. 
4. S-pain. 5. Ste-a-m. 6. 

The names of those who send solutions are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be 
addressed to St. Nicholas "Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New-York City. 

Answers to Puzzles in the March Number were received, too late for acknowledgment in the May number, from F. L. and D. A. 
Watson, England, 7^" San Anselmo Yalley," n — Maud Mudon, London, England, 3 — Bella and Cora Wehl, Frankfort, Germany, 8. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the April Number were received, before April 20, from S. R. T. — Frances M. Crawford — 
Carey E. Melville — "Joe and Paddy Cripsy " — Lucy M. Bradley — Lottie G. Tuttle — " Tiny Puss, Mitzand Muff" — Morris D. Sample 

— " Hyslop " — Willie Serrell and friends — " Puz " — A. B. D. — " CEdipus " — "Betsy Trotwood " — "San Rafael" — "Clifford and 
Coco" — Maggie and May Turrell — Philip, Nettie, and Papa — " Bugaboo Bill" and P;ipa — Grace and Mary Howe — ShumwayHen and 
Chickens — Trebor Treblig — " Phil. O. Sophy "—"Judith " — Francis W. I slip — Hugh and Cis — " Pemie " — "We Girls" — " The Carters" 

— " Pansy " — Sadie and Bessie Rhodes — Harry M. Wheelock. 

Answers to Puzzles in the April Number were received, before April 20, from Stuart and Powers Symington, 1 — A. L. Zeck- 
endorf, 1 — Paul Reese, 10 — Edna H., 1 — Helen R. Tufts, 4 — " Lynx," 4 — Grace C. Ilsley, 1 — Alice R. Douglass, 2 — " W.." 2 — 
M. D. D., 1 — Effie K. Tatboys, 8-—" Patience," 3 — C. Fred Spensley, 1— John Morton, 1 — Helen W. Gardner, 3— Clara G. and 
MabelS., 1 — Amelia N. F. and Annie L. 1>., 1 — Lucy M. Graham, 1 — Israel N. Breslauer, 1 — Sadie Van Praag, 1 — "Kit Sheu," 3 

— Richard P. Appleton, 1 — T. S. T. L. A. M ,4 — " Maude and Edith," 1 — Ellie and Susie, 3 — Maude Guild and Lizzie Eastman, 1 — 
Mary B. B. — Alice Wauer, 1 — Mamie and Eddie Adams, 5 — Adele and Leo, 1 — " Hank," 1 — " Bee Hive," 1 — Harry B Lewis, 1 — 
Leonard Wippert, 3 — Geni- and Meg, 6 Jennie F. Balch, 6 — Josie M. Hodges, 1 — " Puss and Hebe," 4 — A. E. Hyde, 3 — Marion 
S. Dumont, 1 — Eliot White, 6 — " Juvenilis," 5 — " Phenie and Brownie," 2 — " Niggerizy," S — Polly, 5 — " Lady Ann. 3 — R. H., 
Papa, and Mamma, 1 — Ada M., 5 — Frank Boyd, 1 — Hallie Couch and " D.," 7 — Lillie, Ida, and Olive G., 6 — " Pepper and Maria," 
10 — Josephine K. C, 2 — L. A. Payne, 1 — " Locust Dale Folks." 3 — Alice C. Schoonmaker, S — Edith and Jennie, 5 — Fanny, May, 
and I, 3 — George Habenicht, 2 — Lulu M. Race, S — F. D., 7 — John and Lawton Kendrick, 2 — Emily Danzcl, 1 — Sallie Viles, 7 — 
Fanny R, Jackson, 10 — M. McDonough and M. Gomm, 1 — Zoe St. L. Barclay, 8 — James B. Pridham, 1 — Willie Sheraton, 3. 





<5Jf/TN No. I. 
To tfO.JT., 

-SHE DotH, 


THe: mobster, r-srst/ES foR-m? 
c5tf£ -5/r^ up<>K a. CtfAl^v 
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J\foL£ST HEP- ^ ; TTfS. 





Vol. XII. 

JULY, 1885. 

No. 9. 

[Copyright, 18S5, by The CENTURY CO. | 

By Edward Eggleston. 

A hundred and fifty years ago, among the 
German settlers of Pennsylvania, there was a 
remarkable old school-master, whose name was 
Christopher Dock. For a long time he taught 
two little country schools. For three days he 
would teach school at a little place called Skip- 
pack, and then for the next three days he would 
teach at Salford. Every one who knew him called 
him "the pious school-master." They said that 
he never lost his temper, and one day a man who 
thought to try him, said many harsh and abu- 
sive words to him, and even cursed him ; but the 
only reply of the school-master was : 

" Friend, may the Lord have mercy on thee." 

In the time in which Christopher Dock taught 
German children in Pennsylvania, all other school- 
masters, so far as we know, used to beat their 
scholars severely with whips or long switches. 
Some of us, whose heads are not yet white, can 
remember with sorrow the long beech switches of 
the school-masters of our childhood. But long 
before our time, School-master Dock, all by him- 
self, had found out a better way. 

When a child came to school for the first time, 
the other scholars were made, one after another, 
to give the new scholar welcome by shaking hands. 
Then the new boy or girl was told that this was 
not a harsh school, but a place for those who 
would behave, and that if a scholar were lazy, dis- 
obedient, or stubborn, the master would, in the 
presence of the whole school, pronounce such a 
one not lit for this school, but only for a harsh 

school where children were flogged. The new 
scholar was asked to promise to obey and to be 
diligent, and then was shown to a seat. 

" Now," the good master would say, when this 
was done, if the new scholar were a boy," who will 
take this new scholar and help him to learn ? " 

If the scholar were a girl, the question would be 
asked of the girls. When the new boy or girl was 
clean and bright-looking, many would be willing 
to take charge of him or her. But there were few 
ready to teach a dirty, ragged-looking child. 
Sometimes no one would wish to do it. Then 
the master would offer to the one who would 
take such a child a reward of one of the beau- 
tiful texts of Scripture, which the school-masters 
of that time used to write or illuminate for the 
children, or one of the "birds" which he was 
accustomed to paint with his own hands. Mr. 
Samuel W. Pennypacker, of Philadelphia, who has 
translated all of Christopher Dock's writings, has a 
large book full of illuminations and painted birds 
made by the old Pennsylvania teachers ; and some 
of these are really fine. On the next page is an 
engraving of one of these illuminations, which, 
though not the work of Christopher Dock, is a 
good specimen of the cards that were used in his 
day. The elaborate inscription, which begins 
with such a flourish and then dwindles into close- 
crowded writing, is a little sermon on the two vir- 
tues of patience and humility; and the tablets in 
the corners are interesting" as showing queer cos- 
tumes of the time. 




Whenever one of his younger scholars succeeded 
in learning his ABC, the good Christopher Dock 
required the father of his pupil to give his son a 
penny, and also asked his mother to cook two eggs 
for him as a treat in honor of his diligence. To poor 
children in a new country these were fine rewards ; 
I am afraid that neither the penny nor the eggs 
would go far with those who read ST. NICHOLAS. 
But at various points in his progress, an industrious 
child in one of Dock's schools received a penny 
from his father and two eggs cooked by his mother. 
All this time he was not counted a member of the 
school, but only as on probation. The day on which 
a boy or girl began to read was the great day. If the 
pupil had been diligent in spelling, the master, on 
the morning after the first reading day, would give 
a ticket carefully written or illuminated with his 
own hand. This read : "Industrious — one penny." 
This showed that the scholar was now really re- 
ceived into the school. But if he should be idle 
or disobedient, the token would be taken away. 

There were no clocks or watches ; the children 
came to school one after another, taking their places 
near the master, who sat writing. They spent 
their time reading out of the Testament until all 

Every " Lazy Scholar " had his name written 
on the blackboard. If a child at any time failed 
to read correctly, he was sent back to study his 
passage or verse of Scripture, and called again 
after a while. If he failed a second and a third time, 
all the school cried out "Lazy!" and then his 
name was written on the board. Immediately all the 
poor Lazy Scholar's friends went to work to teach 
him to read his lesson correctly, for if his name 
should not be rubbed off the board before school 
was dismissed, all the scholars might write it down 
and take it home with them. If, however, he 
should read well before school was out, the scholars, 
at the bidding of the master, called out, " Indus- 
trious ! " and then his name was rubbed off the 

The funniest of Dock's rewards was that which 
he gave to those who made no mistake in their 
lessons. He marked a large O with chalk on the 
hand of the perfect scholar. Fancy what a time 
the boys and girls must have had trying to go home 
without rubbing out this O ! 

If you had gone into this school some day, you 
might have seen a boy sitting on a " punishment 
bench " all alone. This fellow had told a lie, or 


grprnimBfrofpl ftkn em gruff tp nnd wkr ijfjjrn, mi lit nkmty hm'it s\i ofrjuF urn) tifti M\ i 

Stow wis uiylwf )(» mit fsOUjTin, tint) Wf ircrfii ttiit iiwr hw/jrn, sfi$rf W gfiW ^m Erj, W o- utifodrgiilj jF? ; ■/ wifl ijjn owm 

^'» |*» ftne'lur titter t,cp^nj JIDrtj Tinrlj /tint* rVejf' "%f" , Irntf* i* ■fit*' *^» a* >af 'r <*W f-itn £*\ b CW * 


were there. But every one who succeeded in read- he used bad language; he was put there as implying 

ing his verse without mistake stopped reading, and that he was not fit to sit near anybody else. If he 

came and sat at the writing-table to write. The had committed the offense often, you would see a 

poor fellow who remained last on the bench was yoke around his neck — as though he were a brute, 

called a Lazy Scholar. Sometimes, however, Christopher Dock would give 

* For a translation of the text of this illumination, see page 714. 



the scholars their choice of a blow on the hand, or 
a seat on the punishment bench ; and usually they 
preferred the blow. 

The scholars were allowed at certain times to 
study aloud. But at other times they were obliged 
to keep still, and a boy or girl was put up as a 
" watcher" to write down the names of those who 
talked in this time for quiet. 

The old school-master of Skippack wrote for his 
scholars a hundred rules for good behavior, and 
this is said to be the first work on etiquette written 
in America. But rules of behavior for simple people 
living in houses of one or two rooms only were 
very different from those needed in our day. 

" When you comb your hair, do not go out into 
the middle of the room," says the school-master. 
And this shows that families were accustomed to 
eat and sleep in one room. 

" Do not eat your morning bread upon the road 
or in school," he tells them, "but ask your 
parents to give it you at home." 

So the table manners of that time were very 
good, but very curious to us. He says : " Do not 
wobble with your stool"; because rough, home- 
made stools were the common chairs of the time ; 
and the puncheon floors were so uneven that a 
noisy child could easily rock to and fro. 

" Put your knife and fork upon the right, and 
your bread on the left side," he says ; and he also 
tells them not to throw bones under the table. 
And when the child has finished eating, he is not 

required to wait for the others, or to ask to be 
excused, but to "get up quietly, take your stool 
with you, wish a pleasant meal-time, and go to one 


side." And he is cautioned not to put the remain- 
ing bread in his pocket. 

You may imagine that, as time passed on, Chris- 
topher Dock had many friends ; for all his scholars 
of former years loved him. He lived to be very 
old, and taught his schools till the last. One even- 
ing he did not come home, and the people went 
to look for the beloved old man. He was found on 
his knees in the school-house, dead. 

By A. R. Wells. 


SHE 'S a good little girl, — "Good for what?" did you say? 

Why, good as a kitten to purr and to play ; 

And good as a brooklet to sing on its way ; 

And good as the sunshine to brighten the day. 

To what shall I liken the dear little elf? 

She 's as good as — as good as — as good as — herself! 


The ambitious ant would a-travelling go, 
To see the pyramid's wonderful show. 
He crossed a brook and a field of rye, 
And came to the foot of a haystack high. 

"Ah! wonderful pyramid!" then cried he; 

"How glad I am that I crossed the sea!" 






By Laura E. Richards. 

TOTO was very disconso- 
late. He never staid 
indoors for an ordinary 
rain, but this was a real 
deluge ; so he stood by 
the window and said, 
"Oh, dear! Oh. dear J.' 
Oh, DEAR ! ! ! " as if 
he did not know how to 
say anything else. His 
good grandmother bore 
this quietly for some 
time ; but at length she 

" Toto, do you know 
what happened to the boy who said ' Oh, dear ! ' 
too many times ? " 

" No ! " said Toto, brightening up at the pros- 
pect of a story. " What did happen to him ? Tell 
me, Gran'ma, please ! " 

" Come and hold this skein of yarn for me, 
then ! " replied the grandmother, " and I shall tell 
you as I wind it." 

" Once upon a time there was a boy " 

" What was his name?" interrupted Toto. 

" Chimborazo ! " replied the grandmother. " I 
should have told you his real name in a moment, 
if you had not interrupted me, but now I shall call 
him Chimborazo, and that will be something for 
you to remember." 

Toto blushed and hung his head. 

" This boy," continued the grandmother, "in- 
variably put the wrong foot out of bed first when 
he rose up in the morning, and consequently he 
was always unhappy." 

Here Toto held up his hand without speaking. 

" Yes, you may speak," said the old lady. 
"What is it ?" 

"Please, Gran'ma," said Toto, " Which is the 
wrong foot ? " 

"Do you know which your right foot is?" 
asked the grandmother. " And do you know the 
difference between right and wrong ? " 

" Why, yes, of course ! " said Toto. 

" Then," said the grandmother. " you know 
which the wrong foot is. 

" As I was saying," she went on, " Chimborazo 
was a very unhappy boy. He pouted and sulked, 
and he said ' Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! 
Oh, dear ! ' until everybody was tired of hearing it. 

' Chimborazo,' his mother would say ; ' please don't 
say " Oh, dear! " any more. It is very annoying. 
Say something else.' But the boy would answer, 
' Oh, dear ! I can't ! I don't know anything else 
to say!' At last his mother could bear it no 
longer, so, one day, she sent for his fairy god- 
mother and told her all about it. 

" ' Humph ! ' said the fairy godmother. ' I 
shall see to it. Send the boy to me.' So Chim- 
borazo was sent for, and came, hanging his head 
as usual. When he saw his fairy godmother, he 
said, ' Oh, dear ! ' for he was rather afraid of her. 

"'Oh, dear, it is!' said the fairy godmother 
sharply; and she put on her spectacles and looked 
at him. ' Do you know what a bell-punch is ? ' 

"'Oh, dear!' said Chimborazo. 'No, ma'am, 
I don't.' 

" ' Well,' said the godmother, ' I am going to 
give you one.' 

" 'Oh, dear !' said Chimborazo, 'I don't want 

" ' Probably not, 'replied she. ' But that does n't 
make much difference. ' You have it now in your 
jacket pocket.' Chimborazo felt in his pocket, and 
took out a queer-looking instrument of shining 

" ' Oh, dear ! ' he said. 

"'Oh, dear, it is! 'said the fairy godmother. 
' Now,' she continued, ' listen to me, Chimborazo ! 
I am going to put you on an allowance of "Oh, 
dears ! " This is a self-acting bell-punch, and it will 
ring whenever you say "Oh, dear!" How many 
times do you think you say it in the course of the 
day ? ' 

" ' Oh, dear ! ' said Chimborazo. ' Oh, dear ! 1 
don't know.' 

" Ting ! ting / the bell-punch rang twice sharply ; 
and, looking at it in dismay, he saw two little round 
holes punched in a long slip of pasteboard which 
was fastened to the instrument. 

' ' ' Exactly ! ' said the fairy. ' That is the way 
it works, and a very pretty way, too ! Now, my 
boy, I am going to give you a very liberal al- 
lowance. You may say "Oh, dear," forty-five 
times a day ! There 's liberality for you ! ' 

" ' Oh, dear ! ' cried Chimborazo. ' I ' Ting ! 

said the bell-punch. 

"'You see?' observed the fairy. 'Nothing 
could be prettier. You have now had three of 
to-day's allowance. It is still some hours before 
noon, so I advise you to be careful. If you exceed 



the allowance ' — here she paused, and glowered 
through her spectacles in a very dreadful manner. 

" ' Oh, dear! ' cried Chimborazo — and then he 
heard another ting ! ' what will happen then ? ' 

•' ' You will see ! ' said the fairy godmother with a 
nod. ' Something will happen ; you may be very 
sure of that ! Good-bye, — remember, only forty- 
five ! ' and away she flew out of the window. 

" 'Oh, dear!' cried Chimborazo, bursting into 
tears. ' I don't want it ! I wont have it ! Oh, 
dear! Oh, dear! Oh, clear! Oh, clear! Oh, 
dear!!!' Ting! ting! ting-ting-ting-ting! rang 
the bell-punch ; and now there were ten round holes 
in the strip of pasteboard. Chimborazo was now 

"'Well, Chimbo,' said his father, after tea; 
' I hear you have had a visit from your fairy god- 
mother. What did she say to you, eh ? ' 

" ' Oh, dear ! ' said Chimborazo. 'She said — 
oh, dear ! 1 've said it again ! ' 

"'She said: oh, dear! I've said it again!' 
repeated his father. ' What do you mean by that?' 

" ' Oh, dear ! I did n't mean that ! ' cried Chim- 
borazo, hastily ; and again the inexorable bell rung, 
and he knew that another hole was punched in 
the fatal cardboard. He pressed his lips firmly 
together, and did not open them again, except to 
say good-night, until he was safe in his own room. 
There he hastily drew the hated bell-punch from 

really frightened. He was silent for some time ; 
and when his mother called him to his lessons, he 
tried very hard not to say the dangerous words. 
But the habit was so strong that he said them un- 
consciously. By dinner-time there were twenty- 
five holes in the cardboard strip ; by tea-time 
there were forty. Poor Chimborazo ! he was afraid 
to open his lips ; for, whenever he did, the words 
would slip out in spite of him. 

his pocket, and counted the holes in the strip of 
cardboard — there were forty-three ! ' Oh, dear ! ' 
cried the boy, forgetting himself again in his 
alarm. ' Only two more — Oh. DEAR ! Oh. dear! 

I 've done it again ! Oh ' Ting! ting ! went 

the bell-punch ; and the cardboard was punched 
to the end. ' Oh, dear ! ' cried Chimborazo. now 
beside himself with terror. ' Oh, dear ! Oh, dear! 
Oh, dear! Oh, dear!! what will become of me ? ' 




" A strange, whirring noise was heard ; then a 
loud clang, and the next moment the bell-punch, 
as if it were alive, flew out of his hand, straight 
through the open window, and was gone ! 


" Chimborazo stood breathless with terror for a 
little while, momentarily expecting that the roof 
would fall in on his head, or the floor blow- up 
under his feet, or that some appalling catastrophe 
would follow; but nothing happened. Everything 

"The next morning, soon after Chimborazo 
came downstairs, his father said in a kind voice : 
' My boy, I am going to drive over to your 
grandfather's farm this morning ; would you like 
to go .with me ? ' 

" A drive to the farm was one of the greatest pleas- 
ures Chimborazo had, so he answered promptly, 

'"Oh, dear/' 

" ' Oh, very well ! ' said his father, looking much 
surprised, ' you need not go, my son, if you do not 
wish to. I shall take Robert instead.' 

" Poor Chimborazo ! he had opened his lips to 
say ' Thank you, Papa ! I should like to go very 
much ! ' but, instead of those words, out had 
popped, in his most doleful tone, the now hated 
' oh, dear ! ' He sat amazed, but was roused by 
his mother's calling him to breakfast. ' Come, 
Chimbo ! ' she said ; ' here are sausages and 
scrambled eggs, and you are very fond of both ; 
which will you have ? ' Chimborazo hastened to 
say, 'Sausages, please, Mamma!' — that is, he 
hastened to try to say it — but all his mother heard 
was 'Oh, dear ! ' 

" His father looked much displeased. ' Give the 
boy some bread and water ! ' he said, sternly. ' If he 
can not answer properly, he must be taught. We 
have had enough of these " oh, dear" replies.' 

" Poor Chimborazo ! he saw plainly enough now 
what his punishment was to be, and the thought 



was quiet, and there seemed to be nothing to do 
but to go to bed ; so to bed he went, and slept, 
only to dream that he was shot through the head 
with a bell-punch, and expired saying ' Oh, dear ! ' 

of it made him tremble. He tried to ask for some 
more bread, but only brought out his 'oh, dear." 
in such a lamentable tone that his father ordered 
him to leave the room. He went out into the gar- 

Oil, DEAR 


den, and there he met John, the gardener, carry- 
ing a basket of rosy apples. Oh ! how delicious 
and tempting they looked ! 

" I am bringing some of the finest apples up 
to the house, little master,' said John. ' Will 
you have one to put in your pocket ? ' 

" ' Oh, dear ! ' was all the poor boy could 
say, though he really wanted an apple very 
much ! And when John heard those fretful 
words, he put the apple back in his basket, 
muttering something about ungrateful lads. 

" Poor Chimborazo ! I shall not give the 
whole history of that miserable day. A mis- 
erable day it was, from beginning to end. He 
fared no better at dinner than at breakfast ; 
for at the second ' oh, dear ! ' his father sent 
him up to his room, ' to stay there until he 
knew how to take what was given him, and 
to be thankful for it.' He knew well enough 
by this time, but he could not tell his father 
how he suffered ; and he went to his room and 
sat looking out of the window, a hungry and 
miserable boy. In the afternoon his Cousin 
Will came up to see him. 

" ' Why, Chimbo ! ' he cried, ' why do you 
sit moping here in the house when all the boys 
are out ? Come and play marbles with me on 
the piazza. Ned and Harry are out there 
waiting for you. Come on ! ' 

" ' Oh, dear ! ' said Chimborazo. 

" ' What 's the matter ? ' asked Will. 'Have 
n't you any marbles ? Never mind ! I '11 give 
you half of mine if you like. Come ! ' 

" ' Oh, DEAR ! ' said Chimborazo. 

" ' Well,' said Will, ' if that 's all you have 
to say when I offer you marbles, I '11 keep 
them myself. I suppose you expected me to 
give you all of them, did you ? I never saw such 
a fellow ! ' and off he went in a huff. 

" 'Well, Chimborazo,' said the fairy godmother 
that evening ; ' what do you think of " oh, dear ! " 
now?' And poor Chimborazo looked at her be- 
seechingly, but said nothing. 

" ' Finding that forty-five times was not enough 

for you yesterday, I thought I would let you have 
all you wanted to-day ! ' said the fairy godmother, 
slyly. ' Are you satisfied with to-day's allowance ? ' 


"The boy still looked imploringly at her, but 
did not open his lips. 

" ' Well ! well ! ' she said at last, touching his 
lips with her wand. ' I think that you have had 
sufficient punishment, though I am sorry you 
broke the bell-punch. Good-bye ! I don't believe 
you will say " oh, dear ! " any more.' 

"And he did n't." 





By Maria W. Jones. 

We were six school-girl friends and therefore 
inseparable — Kate and Maggie, Sadie and Emma, 
Flo and myself. We delighted in secrets and 
in mystery, and we had a post-office in 
Emma's father's cellar to give greater se- 
crecy to our communications. The post- 
office itself was simply a pasteboard box, 
in which, through a convenient slit, our pre- 
cious letters were deposited. 

And just as the novelty of the post-office 
was wearing away, life received a new joy 
from the suggestion of our teacher, Mrs. 
Lindley, who showed us how we could em- 
ploy and amuse ourselves out of school- 
hours. This was by no less an enterprise 
than making a cabinet and filling it with 
specimens and curiosities of our own col- 

"And," she added, with wise forethought, 
"I advise you to do all the work yourselves, 
and to tell no one about it." 

Is there anything more delightful, girls, 
than a secret? To be met some morning 
when you reach school with the exclamation 
from one of your " dearest " friends, " Oh, 
I 'm so glad you 've come. I 've such a 
secret to tell you ! " and then to hear this 
secret under the solemnly whispered pledge, 
'• In deed and deed and double deed. I '11 
never,nevertellaslongasI live and breathe !" 

Maggie, Sadie, and Emma each passed 
through this happy experience after Mrs. Lindley 
had talked with Kate, and Flo, and me about our 
cabinet. And so our Secret Society was fairly 

We discussed badges and initiation fees, and 
many other features which were never accomplished, 
and we promised a great many curiosities that we 
failed to obtain ; but then we had all the enjoyment 
of planning; and anticipation, you know, is the 
next best thing to realization. 

Saturday was our day for collecting. Bugs, 
stones, shells, and all such things suddenly ac- 
quired new interest in our eyes : and we, who 
knew nothing about chloroforming butterflies, 
caused those unfortunate flutterers to lead a hard 
life, I fear, just before their death. But we talked 
wisely about the poor things, and called them 
martyrs to science, and so on. 

It was on one of these Saturday excursions that 
Flo startled us with a shout of joyful surprise. 

" Oh, girls ! " she cried, " here 's the very thing 
for our cabinet — a nice big toad ! We '11 catch it 
and " Just then the toad gave a little hop, 


and we all followed its example, but quite in the 
other direction. 

After much talking and maneuvering, and by 
dint of much poking with sticks and "shooing" 
and dodging, the coveted treasure was finally 
caught in Flo's calico sun-bonnet, and we stood as 
exultant as a party of hunters around a captured 
wild beast. 

But now who should carry it home ? Each one 
declined in turn for good and sufficient reasons ; 
but it was finally determined, after an animated 
discussion, that Flo should carry it the first part 
of the way, and then the rest of us would "take 
turns." Flo kept the sun-bonnet tightly closed, 
and we walked at a safe distance from it. 

So the triumphal procession started for home ; 
but just as Flo was climbing a rail-fence, a 
sudden leap from the dissatisfied toad in the sun- 
bonnet was too much for her excited nerves; she 
shook the bonnet with a little scream, and out 

i88 5 .l 



jumped Mr. Toad, in long leaps for freedom. We 
all pounced upon the escaped prisoner, and with 
chips and sticks, and many a start and shriek, 
endeavored to coax it into the bonnet again. 
While thus engaged, a gentleman passing by be- 
gan, to our great mortification, to lecture us for 
cruelty to a poor defenseless toad. We wondered 
if devotion to science had ever before been so un- 

He laughed so derisively when Kate, with great 
dignity, declared our purpose of putting the toad 
into a cabinet, that our cheeks fairly tingled with 
indignation. But somehow, after he had gone, our 
ardor cooled. First one and then another cast 
discredit upon our proposed specimen, and when, 
at last, Kate was obliged to confess that she knew 
nothing whatever of preparing toads for cabinets, 
we set our captive free, and Flo reluctantly put 
on her sun-bonnet. 

Thenceforth we confined ourselves to inanimate 


objects ; but even with these we ranged from the 
heights of ecstasy to the depths of despair, as now 


this thing and now that 
proved unattractive. 

But while we were in- 
dustriously collecting curi- 
osities, we were as dili- 
gently preparing a place 
in which to put them. We 
had obtained a large but 
shallow dry-goods box, and 
by our united efforts had 
succeeded in tugging and 
rolling and dragging it 
into a shed joining my 
mother's kitchen, — a place 
at once convenient and re- 
tired, — where, with hatch- 
ets and a saw, boards and 
nails, we became six girl- 
carpenters. Not a boy, 
from first to last, was called 
to our assistance, for each 
of us laughed at the idea 
that she could not drive a 
nail or saw a board as well 
as any boy of her age ; and 
so we hammered and sawed — sometimes our fin- 
gers and feet, but generallv boards. 




All the time we could spare, and some, 1 fear, 
that we should not have devoted to it, was spent in 
that old shed. At first we purposed putting in five 
shelves, and making double doors; but this plan 
final! y resolved itself into three shelves and no doors. 

With each new addition to our collection our 
hopes grew brighter, and so did our day dreams. 
One especially interesting specimen set us to 
gravely discussing the propriety of giving a public 
exhibition of our cabinet when completed ; and 
soon the day came when the last shelf was in. 
Twelve cents' worth of wall-paper completed the 
decorations, and the Secret Society stood survey- 
ing its cabinet with flushed cheeks and quickened 
pulses, seeing beauties in it that no one else could 
possibly have detected. 

It was a blissful Saturday when, having bor- 
rowed a wheelbarrow, and placed our precious box 
thereon, we wheeled it up the hill and through 
the back alley to the school-house. We set it up 
in the play-room, and arranged our curiosities as 
artistically as possible. How we lingered and 
started and turned back again to take just one 
more look, or to bring into prominence some par- 
ticularly engaging butterfly or curious stone ! How 

impatiently we waited for Monday morning ! Of 
course, we six were first at school, and, with flushed 
faces, eager eyes, and heads fairly swimming with 
the rush of emotions, we watched for Mrs. Lindley's 
coming. It was a proud moment for us when she 
came ; and, with two of us clasping her hands, and 
the rest clustering around, we escorted her to our 
cabinet. She praised and petted and laughed, as 
we pointed out the peculiar beauties and excel- 
lencies of different objects, and we felt amply 
rewarded for all our toil. 

I don't remember much about it after that, but 
I know that the older girls disappointed us keenly 
by showing no interest in this tangible revelation of 
our wonderful secret ; the mosses, lichens, and some 
other things soon fell out, and were tossed about 
the play-room, and finally were swept out as litter ; 
and the double doors were never put on. All of 
which seems rather sad in the telling, but did not 
trouble us very much, I think. That state of 
affairs came about gradually, and not until we had 
derived very much pleasure from our cabinet ; and 
I am sure that no summer of our childhood was 
happier than the one in which flourished "Our 
Secret Society." 

By Helen Gray Cone. 

Where the Sun sails bold on the Sea of Gold 

Past the Violet Islands fair, 
And the ragged shapes of the Rosy Capes, 

And the Castles of the Air, — 
Can you call aright all that country bright, 

That is washed by waves like flame ? 
'T is the coast admired, 't is the clime desired, 

Of the Land Without a Name. 

And the way to go, if you fain would know, 

Is to charter the Crescent Ship, 
All of silver pale, with a cobweb sail, — 

And merrily does she dip ! 
There 's a crew of Hopes at her filmy ropes, 

And on board that ship of fame 
Many a longing Dream seeks the shores agleam 

Of the Land Without a Name. 



By E. P. Roe. 

Chapter VI. 


THE day of our picnic proved to be all that we 
could desire. The children were up with the 
dawn, and Junior was not long in joining us. By 
eight o'clock we were through with breakfast and 
the morning work, our lunch-basket was packed, 
and the market wagon was at the door. Mr. Jones 
had good-naturedly promised to take an occasional 
look at the premises to see that all was right. 1 
put but one seat in the wagon, for my wife and 
myself, since the young people had decided that a 
straw-ride to the river would be " more fun than a 

My wife entered into the spirit of this little out- 
ing with a zest which gave me deep content. The 
robins, of which there seemed to be hundreds 
about the house, gave us a tuneful and hilarious 
send-off; the people and children whom we met 
smiled and cheered, following us with envious eyes. 
Each of our little people held a pole aloft, and 
Merton said that "the wagon looked as if our 
lima-bean patch was off on a visit." 

In the village we increased our stock of lines 
and hooks, and bought a few corks for floats. 
Soon after, we reached the mouth of Moodna 
Creek, and a weather-beaten boat-house, with a 
stable adjoining in which old Bay could enjoy 
himself in his quiet, prosaic way. A comfortable 
boat was hired, and, as the tide was in, we decided 
to go up the creek as far as possible first and 
float down with the ebb. This, to the children, 
was like a voyage of discovery, and there was a 
general airing of geography, each little bay, point, 
and gulf receiving a noted name. At last we 
reached a deep, shaded pool, which was eventually 
dubbed " Bobsey's Luck," for he narrowly escaped 
falling into it in his eagerness to take off a minnow 
that had managed to fasten itself to his hook. 

Merton and Junior, being more experienced 
anglers, went ashore to make some casts on the 
ripples and rapids of the stream above, and secured 
several fine "win-fish." The rest of us were con- 
tent to take it easy in the shade, and hook an oc- 
casional cat-fish and sun-fish. At last the younger 
children wanted variety, so I permitted them to 
land on the wooded bank, kindle a little fire, and 
roast some clams that we had bought at the boat- 
house. The smoke and tempting odors lured 

Merton and Junior, who soon proved that boys' 
appetites can always be depended upon. 

Time passed rapidly, until I noticed that the 
tide had fallen to such a degree that I cried in 
alarm, "Come, youngsters, we must go back at 
once or we shall have to stay here till nearly 
night." They scrambled on board, and we started 
down-stream, but soon came to a place where the 
swift current and ripples proved how shallow 
was the water. A moment later we were hard 
aground. In vain we pushed with the oars; the 
boat would not budge. Then Junior sat down and 
coolly began to take off his shoes and stockings. 
In a flash Merton followed his example. There 
was no help for it, and we had no time to lose. 
Over they splashed, lightening the boat, and, 
taking the " painter," or tie-rope, at the bow, 
■they pulled manfully. Slowly at first, but with 
increasing progress, the keel grated over the 
stones, and at last we were afloat again. A round 
of applause greeted the boys as they sprang back 
into the boat, and away we went, cautiously avoid- 
ing shoals and sand-bars, until we reached Plum 
Point, where we expected to spend the remainder 
of the day. Here, for a time, we had excellent 
sport, and pulled up sun-fish and white perch of a 
very fair size. Even Bobsey caught so many 
specimens of the former variety that he had pro- 
vided himself with a supper equal even to his 

The day ended in memories of unalloyed pleas- 
ure, and never had the old farm-house looked so 
like home as when it greeted us again in the even- 
ing glow of the late spring sun. Merton and Junior 
divided the captured fishes with mutual satisfaction, 
while Winnie and I visited the chicken-coops and 
found that there had been no mishaps during our 
absence. I told Merton that I would milk the cow 
while he cleaned the fish for supper, and when at 
last we sat down we formed a tired, happy, and 
hungry group. Surely, if fish were created to be 
eaten, our enjoyment of their browned sweetness 
must have rounded out their existence completely. 

The beautiful transition period of spring passing 
into summer would have filled us with delight had 
we not found a hostile army advancing on us — 
the weeds. When we planted the garden, the 
soil was brown and clean. The early vegetables 
came up in well-defined green rows, the weeds ap- 
pearing with them being too few and scattered to 
cause anxiety. Now all was changed. Weeds 




seemed to spring up by magic in a night. The 
later-planted parts of the garden were becoming 
evenly green in all their spaces, and in some cases 
the vegetables could scarcely be distinguished from 
the ranker growth of crowding, unknown plants 
among and around them. I also saw that our corn 
and potato field would soon become, if left alone, 
as verdant as the meadow beyond. I began to fear 
that we could not cope with these myriads of foes, 
little enough now, but growing while we slept, and 
stealing a march on us at one part of the place 
while we destroyed them in another. 

With a feeling of dismay I called Mr. Jones's 
attention to these silent forces invading, not only 
the garden and fields, but the raspberry plots, and, 
indeed, all the ground now devoted to fruit. He 
laughed and said : 

" The Philistines are upon you, sure enough. 
1 'm busy whacking them over myself, but I think 
I '11 have to give you a lift, for you must get 
these weeds well under before haying and rasp- 
berry-picking time comes. It 's warm to-day, 
and the ground 's rather dry. i '11 show you what 
can be done. Call the children and come with me 
to the garden." 

We all were there soon, my wife, who shared my 
solicitude, also joining us. 

" You see," resumed Mr. Jones, " that these 
weakly little rows of carrots, beets, and onions would 
soon be choked by these weeds, not an inch high 
yet. The same is true of the corn and peas and 
the rest. The potatoes are strong enough to take 
care of themselves for a time, but not for long. I 
see that you and Merton have been trying to weed 
and hoe them out at the same time. Well, you can't 
keep up with the work in that way. Now take 
this bed of beets ; the weeds are gettin' even all 
over it, and they 're thicker, if anywhere, right in 
the row, so that it takes a good eye to see the 
beets. But here they are, and here they run 
across the bed. Now look at me. One good 
showin' is worth all the tellin' and readin' from now 
to Christmas. You see, I begin with my two 
hands, and pull out all the weeds on each side of 
the little row, and 1 pull 'em away from the young 
beets so as not to disturb them, but to leave 'em 
standing straight. I drop the weeds right down 
here in the spaces between the rows, for the sun 
will dry 'em up before dinner-time. Now I '11 
take another row." 

By this time Merton and I were following his 
example, and within a few moments parts of three 
more rows were being treated in the same way. 

" There," said Mr. Jones, " now the weeds are 
all out of the rows that we 've treated, and for a 
little space on each side of 'em. The beets have a 
chance to grow, unchoked, and to get ahead. 

These other little green varmints in the ground, 
between the rows, are too small to do any harm 
yet. Practically, the beets are cleaned out, and 
will have to themselves all the ground they need 
for three or four days; but these weeds between 
the rows would soon swamp everything. Now, 
give me a hoe, and I '11 attend to them." 

And he drew the useful tool carefully and evenly 
through the spaces between the rows, and soon our 
enemies were lying on their sides ready to wither 
away in the morning sun. 

" You see, after the rows are weeded out how 
quickly you can hoe the spaces between 'em," my 
neighbor concluded. "Now the children can do 
this weedin'. Your time and Merton's is too valu'- 
ble. When weeds are pulled from right in and 
around vegetables, the last can stand without harm 
for a while, till you can come around with the hoe 
and cultivator. This weedin' out business is 'spe- 
cially important in rainy weather, for it only hurts 
ground to hoe or work it in wet, showery days, 
and the weeds don't mind it a bit. On warm, sunny 
days, when the soil 's a little dry, is the time to 
kill weeds. But you must be careful in weedin' 
then, or you '11 so disturb the young, tender garden 
shoots that they '11 dry up, too. I '11 come over this 
afternoon with my cultivator, and we'll tackle the 
corn and potatoes, and make such a swath among 
these green Philistines that you '11 sleep better to- 

And he left us laughing and hopeful. 

"Come, Winnie and Bobsey, start in here on 
each side of me. I '11 show you our plan, this morn- 
ing, and then I trust I can leave you to do the work 
carefully by yourselves to-morrow. Pressing as is 
the work, you shall have your afternoons until the 
berries are ripe." 

" Can't I help, too?" asked Mousie. 

I looked into her eager, wistful face, but said 
firmly : 

" Not now, dear. The sun is too hot. Toward 
night, perhaps, I may let you do a little. By aiding 
Mamma in the house, you are doing your part." 

We made good progress, and the two younger 
children soon learned the knack of working care- 
fully, so as not to disturb the little vegetables. I 
soon found that weeding was back-aching work for 
me, and therefore " spared " myself by hoeing out 
the spaces between the rows. By the time the 
music of the dinner-bell was heard, hosts of our 
enemies were slain. 

Mr. Jones, true to his promise, was on hand at 
one o'clock with his cultivator, and he started in at 
the corn, which was now a few inches high. Mer- 
ton and I followed with hoes, uncovering the ten- 
der shoots on which earth had been thrown, and 
dressing out the soil into clean flat hills. 



Mr. Jones was not a man of half-way measures. 
He remained helping us, till he had gone through 
the corn, once each way, twice between the long 
rows of potatoes, then twice through all the rasp- 
berry rows, giving us full two days of his time 

I handed him an extra dollar in addition to his 
charge, saying that I had never paid out money 
with greater satisfaction. 

"Well," he said, with his short, dry laugh, 
"I '11 take it this time, for my work is suffering at 
home, but I did n't want you to become discour- 
aged. Now, keep the hoes flyin' and you '11 keep 
ahead. Junior 'sat it early and late, I can tell you." 

It was a winning fight with the weeds, but it 
was weary work. One 
hot afternoon, about 
three o'clock, I saw that 
Merton was growing 
pale, and beginning to 
lag, and I said deci- 
dedly : 

" Do you see that 
tree there ? Go and 
lie down under it till I 
call you." 

" Oh, I can stand it 
till night," he began, 
his pride alittle touched. 

"Obey orders! lam 
captain," Icommanded. 

In five minutes he 
was fast asleep, and I 
threw my coat over him, 
and sat down, propos- 
ing to have ahalf-hour's 
rest myself. My wife 
came out with a pitcher 
of cool buttermilk and 
nodded her head ap- 
provingly at us. 

" Well, my thought- 
ful Eve," I said, " I fi 
our modern Eden will cost Mer- 
ton and me a great many back 

" If you will only be as prudent always 
as you try to be now, you may save me a 
heart-ache. Robert, you are ambitious, 
and unused to this kind of work. Please 
never be so foolish as to overrate the compara- 
tive value of corn and potatoes. I 'd rather do 
with a few bushels less, than do without you and 
Merton." And she sat down and kept me idle for 
an hour. 

Then Merton jumped up, saying that he felt as 
" fresh as if he had had a night's rest," and we ac- 

complished more in the cool of the day than if we 
had kept doggedly at work. 

I found that Winnie and Bobsey required rather 
different treatment. For a while they did very 
well, but one morning I set them at a bed of pars- 
nips about which I 

was particular. In 
the middle of the 
forenoon I went to 
the garden to see 
how they were pro- 
gressing. Shouts 
of laughter made 
me fear that all was 
not well, and I soon 


discovered that they were throwing lumps of earth 
at each other. So absorbed were they in their 
untimely and mischievous fun that I was not 
noticed until I found Bobsey sitting plump on the 
vegetables, and the rows behind both the children 
very shabbily cleaned, not a few of the little plants 
having been pulled up with the weeds. 

6 5 6 



Without a word I marched them into the house, 
and then said : 

" You are under arrest till night. Winnie, go to 
your room. I shall strap Bobsey in his chair 
and put him in the parlor by himself." 

The exchange of the hot garden for the cool 
rooms seemed rather an agreeable punishment at 
first, although Winnie felt the disgrace keenly. 
When, at dinner, only a cup of water and a piece 
of dry bread were taken to them, Bobsey began to 
cry, and Winnie to look as if the affair were grow- 
ing serious. Late in the afternoon, when she 
found that she was not to gather the eggs nor feed 
her beloved chickens, she, too, broke down and 
sobbed that she "would n't do so any more." 
Bobsey also pleaded so piteously for release, and 
promised such a saint-like behavior, that I said : 

' ' Well, I shall remit the rest of your punishment 
and put you on trial. You had no excuse for 
your mischief this morning, for I allow you to play 
the greater part of every afternoon, while Merton 
must stand by me the whole of the week." 

My touch of discipline brought up effectually 
the morale of my little squad for a time. The 
next afternoon even the memory of trouble was 
banished by the finding of the first wild straw- 
berries. There was exultation and universal in- 
terest as clusters of green and red berries were 
handed about to be smelled and examined. 
"Truly," my wife remarked, "even roses can 
scarcely equal the fragrance of the wild straw- 

From that day forward, for weeks, it seemed as 
if we entered on a diet of strawberries and roses. 
The old-fashioned bushes of the latter, near the 
house, had been well trimmed, and in consequence 
gave large, fine buds, while Winnie, Mousie, 
and Bobsey gleaned every wild berry that could 
be found, beginning with the sunny upland slopes 
and following the aromatic fruit down to the cool, 
moist borders of the creek. 

"Another year," I said, "I think you will be 
tired even of strawberries, for we shall have to 
pick early and late." 

The Saturday evening which brought us almost 
to the middle of June was welcomed indeed. The 
days preceding had been filled with hard, yet suc- 
cessful, labor, and the weeds had been slaughtered 
by the million. The greater part of our crops had 
come up well and were growing nicely. In hoeing 
the corn, we had planted over the few missing 
hills, and now, like soldiers who had won the first 
great success of the campaign, we were in a mood 
to enjoy a rest to the utmost. 

This rest seemed all the more delightful when, 
the following morning, we awoke to the soft 
patter of rain. The preceding days had been un- 

usually dry and warm, and the grass and tender 
vegetables were beginning to suffer. I was also 
worrying about the raspberries, which were pass- 
ing out of blossom. The cultivator had been 
through them, and Merton and I, only the even- 
ing before, had finished hoeing out the sprouting 
weeds and surplus suckers. I had observed, with 
dread, that just as the fruit was forming, the earth, 
especially around the hills, was becoming dry. 

Now, looking out, I saw that the needful water- 
ing was not coming from a passing shower. The 
clouds were leaden from horizon to horizon ; the 
rain fell with the gentle steadiness of a quiet sum- 
mer storm, and had evidently been falling some 
hours already. The air was so fragrant that I 
threw wide open the door and windows. It was a 
true June incense, such as no art could distill ; and 
when, at last, we all sat down to breakfast, of 
which crisp radishes taken a few moments before 
from our own garden formed a part, we felt that 
nature was carrying on our work of the past week 
in a way that filled our hearts with gratitude. The 
air was so warm that we did not fear the damp- 
ness. The door and windows were left open that 
we might enjoy the delicious odors and listen to 
the musical patter of the rain, which fell so softly 
that the birds were quite as tuneful as on other 

The children joined me, and my wife, putting 
her hand on my shoulder, said laughingly : 

" You are not through with July and August 

Mousie held her hands out in the warm rain, 
saying, " I feel as if it would make me grow, too. 
Look at the green cherries up there, bobbing as the 
drops hit them." 

"Rain isn't good for chickens," Winnie re- 
marked doubtfully. 

" It wont hurt them," I replied, " for I have fed 
them so well that they need n't go out in the wet 
for food." 

The clouds gave us a more and more copious 
downfall as the day advanced, and I sat on the 
porch resting, and watching with conscious grati- 
tude how beautifully nature was furthering all our 
labor, and fulfilling our hopes. This rain would 
greatly increase the hay- crops for the old horse 
and the cow. It would carry my vegetables rap- 
idly toward maturity ; and, best of all, would soak 
the raspberry ground so thoroughly that the fruit 
would be almost safe. What was true of our little 
plot was equally so of neighbor Jones's farm, and 
thousands of others. My wife sat with me much 
of the day, and I truly think that our thoughts 
were acceptable worship. By four in the afternoon 
the western horizon lightened, the clouds soon 
broke away, and the sun shone out briefly in un- 



diminished splendor, turning the countless rain- In spite of the muddy walks, we picked our way 
drops on foliage and grass literally into gems of about the garden, exclaiming in pleased wonder 
the purest water. The bird-songs seemed almost at the growth made by our vegetable nurslings in 


ecstatic, and the voices of the children, permitted 
at last to go out-of-doors, vied with them in glad- 

" Let July and August — yes. and bleak January 
— bring what they may," I said to my wife, " nev- 
ertheless, this is Eden." 

Vol. XII. — 42. 

a few brief hours, while, across the field, the corn 
and potato rows showed' green, strong outlines. 

I found that Brindle in the pasture had not 
minded the rain in the least, but only appeared the 
sleeker for it. When at last I came in to supper, I 
gave my wife a handful of berries, at which she and 

6 5 8 



the children exclaimed. I had permitted a dozen 
plants of each variety of my garden strawberries 
to bear, that I might get some idea of the fruit. 
The blossoms on the other plants had been picked 
off as soon as they appeared, so that all the strength 
might go toward forming new plants. I found that 
a few of the berries of the two early kinds were ripe, 
and also that the robins had been sampling them. 
In size, at least, they seemed wonderful, compared 
with the wild fruit from the field, and I said : 

" There will be lively times for us when we must 
pick a dozen bushels of these a day, to send to Mr. 

But the children thought it would be the great- 
est fun in the world. By the time supper was 
over, Mr. Jones and Junior appeared, and my 
neighbor said in hearty good-will : 

" You got your cultivatin' done in the nick o' 
time, Mr. Durham. This rain is a good hundred 
dollars in your pocket — and mine, too." 

I soon perceived that our enemies, the weeds, 
had "millions in reserve," and on the Monday 
after the rain, with all the children helping, even 
Mousie part of the time, we went at the garden 
again. To Mousie, scarcely an invalid any longer, 
was given the pleasure of picking the first mess 
of green peas and shelling them for dinner. 

As the ground dried after the rain, a slight 
crust formed on the surface, and in the wetter 
portions it was even inclined to bake or crack. I 
was surprised at the almost magical effect of break- 
ing up the crust and making the soil loose and 
mellow by cultivation. The letting in of air and 
light caused the plants to grow with wonderful 

One Wednesday morning Merton came running 
in, exclaiming, " O, Papa! there's a green worm 
eating all the leaves off the currant and gooseberry 

I followed him hastily, and found that consider- 
able mischief had been done already, and I went 
to one of my fruit-books in a hurry, to find out 
how to cope with this new enemy. As a result, 
I mixed a heaping table-spoonful of hellebore 
through the contents of a watering-can, on which 
I had painted the word "Poison." With this 
infusion I sprinkled thoroughly every bush on 
which I could find a worm, and the next morn- 
ing we had the pleasure of finding most of the 
invaders dead. But cither some escaped or new 
ones were hatched out, and we found that we 
could save our currants only by constant vigilance. 

An evening or two after this, we were taught 
that not even in our retired nook had we escaped 
the dangers of city life. Winnie and Bobsey, 
in their rambles after strawberries, had met two 
other children, and, early in the acquaintance 

fortunately, brought them to the house. The 
moment I saw the strange girl, I recognized a 
rural example of the Melissa Daggett type, while 
the urchin of Bobsey's age did not scruple to use 
vile language in my hearing. I doubt if the poor 
little savage had any better vernacular. I told 
them kindly but firmly that they must not come 
on the place again without my permission. 

After supper I went over and asked Mr. Jones 
about these children, and he replied significantly, 
looking around first to make sure that no one 
heard him : 

" Mr. Durham, steer clear of those people. You 
know there are certain varmints on a farm to which 
we give a wide berth, and kill 'em when we can. 
Of course we can't kill off this family, although a 
good contribution could be taken up any day to 
move 'em a hundred miles away. Still about 
everybody gives 'em a wide berth, and is civil to 
their faces. They '11 rob you more or less, and 
you might as well make up your mind to it, and 
let 'em alone." 

" Suppose I don't let them alone ? " I asked. 

" Well, there have been barns burned around 
here. Everybody 's satisfied as to who set 'em afire, 
but nothin' can be proved. Your cow or horse, 
too, might suddenly die. There 's no tellin' what 
might happen if you should get their ill-will." 

" I can't take the course you suggest toward this 
family," I said, after a little thought. " It seems 
to me wrong on both sides. On one hand, they are 
treated as outlaws, and that would go far toward 
making them such ; on the other, they are per- 
mitted to commit crime with impunity. Of course 
I must keep my children away from them ; but, if 
the chance offers, I shall show the family kind- 
ness, — and if they molest me, I shall try to give 
them the law to the utmost." 

"Well," concluded Mr. Jones, with a shrug, 
"I 've warned you; if they get down on you, 
you '11 find 'em snakes in the grass." 

Returning home, I said nothing to Winnie and 
Bobsey against their recent companions, but told 
them that if they went with them again, or made 
the acquaintance of other strangers without per- 
mission, they would be put on bread and water for 
an entire day — that all such action was positively 

It was evident, however, that the Melissa Dag- 
gett element was present in the country, and in an 
aggravated form. The redeeming feature was, that 
it was not next door, or, rather in the next room. 
In the country, wide spaces usually separate us 
from evil association. 

It must not be thought that my wife and children 
had no society except that afforded by Mr. Jones's 
family. On the contrary, they were gradually mak- 


6 59 

ing many pleasant and useful acquaintances, espe- 
cially among the people we met at church ; but 
as these people have no material part in this 
simple history, they are not mentioned. 

The most important active operations of the 
season were now drawing very near. The cherries 
were swelling fast, the currants were growing 
red, and were already 
voted " nice for pies," 
and one morning Mor- 
ton came rushing in with 
a red raspberry from the 
Highland Hardy vari- 
ety. I was glad the time 
was at hand when I 
should begin to receive 
something besides ad- 
vice from Mr. Bogart ; 
for, careful as we had 
been, the drain on my 
capital had been long 
and steady, and we were 
eager for the turn of the 

I had bought a num- 
ber of old Mr. Jamison's 
crates, had painted out 
his name and replaced 
it with mine. I now 
wrote to Mr. Bogart, for 
packages best adapted 
for shipping cherries, 
currants, and raspber- 
ries. For the cherries, 
he sent me baskets that 
held about a peck. 
These baskets were so 
cheap that they could 
be sold with the fruit. 
For currants, crates con- 
taining twenty-four 
quart baskets, were for- 
warded. These, he 
wrote, would also do for 

blackcaps that season, and for strawberries the next 
year. For the red raspberries, he sent me quite dif- 
ferent crates, filled with little baskets holding only 
half a pint of fruit. By the time when we had 
again cleared the corn and potatoes of weeds, 
some of our grass was fit to cut, the raspberries 
needed a careful picking over, and the cherries 
were ready for market. 

I had long since decided not to attempt to carry 
on haying alone at this critical season, but din- 
ing the last days of June had hired old Mr. Fergur- 
son, who came at moderate wages, and put in his 
scythe on the uplands. 

On the last day of June we gathered a crate of 
early raspberries and eight baskets of cherries. 
In the cool of the afternoon, these were placed in 
the wagon, and with my wife and the three younger 
children. I drove to the Maizeville landing with our 
first shipment to Mr. Bogart. 

" We are ' p'o-ducers,' at last, as Bobsey said," I 
cried, joyously. " And I trust that 
this small beginning will end in 
loads so big that they will leave 
us no room for wife and children, 
but will eventually give them a car- 
riage to ride in." 

Merton remained on guard to 
watch our precious and ripening 

" ' P O-Dl'CERS AT LAST ! 

After our departure, Merton began a vigilant 
patrol of the place, feeling much like a sentinel 
left on guard. About sundown, he told me, as he 
was passing through the raspberry held, he thought 
he caught a glimpse of an old straw hat dodging 
down behind the bushes. He bounded toward 
the spot, a moment later confronting three 
children with tin pails. The two younger proved 
to be Winnie's objectionable acquaintances that 
I had told to keep off the place. The eldest 
was a boy, not far from Merton's age. who had 
justly won the name of being the worst boy in 
the region. All were the children of the dan- 




gerous neighbor against whom Mr. Jones had 
warned me. 

The boy at first regarded Merton with a sullen, 
defiant look, while his brother and sister coolly 
continued to steal the fruit. 

" Clear out ! " cried Merton. " We'll have you 
put in jail if you come here again." 

"You clear out yerself," said the boy, threat- 
eningly, "or I '11 make ye. Yer folks 're away, 
and we 're not afraid of you. What 's more, we 're 
goin' ter have some cherries before " 

Now, Merton had a quick temper, and, at this 
assertion, he sprang so quickly at the fellow who 
was adding insult to injury, that he struck the thief 
a severe blow in the face. 

Then they clinched, and, although his antagonist 
was the heavier, Merton thinks he could have mas- 
tered him had not the two younger marauders also 
attacked him like cats, tooth and nail. Finding 
himself getting the worst of it, he instinctively sent 

out a cry for his stanch friend Junior. Fortunately, 
Junior was coming along the road toward our 
house, and he gave an answering halloo. 

The invaders, apparently, had a wholesome fear 
of John Jones, Junior ; for, on hearing his voice, 
they beat a hurried retreat. But knowing that no 
one was at the house, in the spirit of revengeful 
mischief, they took their flight in that direction ; see- 
ing Mousie's flower-bed, they ran and jumped upon 
that, breaking down half the plants ; and then they 
dashed off through the coops, releasing the hens, 
and scattering the broods of chickens. Merton and 
Junior, who for a few moments had lost sight of 
them in the thick raspberry bushes, were now in 
hot pursuit, and surely would have caught them, 
had they not just then spied a man coming up the 
lane, accompanied by a big dog. Junior laid a 
hand on headlong Merton, whose blood was now 
at boiling heat, and said quickly : 


(To be continued.) 


fussy wen 
Hnd c&me to Jin ( 
llbe ne^rd & funny hummin 


e ^tlreet; 

^^^^^Jelow her little feeK — 
fl^H^e street be<$&jn to sin 

ess me 




ou evepUj^v 

e&r or sucn & 

&a »'S Mill 





wL>lotilda of Burgundy ^g|j 

The Girl of the French Vineyards 

'^&&-i3^£!&^ s ^ 

«T wasjustfour- 
teen hun- 
dred years 
ago this 
very mid- 
s u m m e r, 
in the year 
of our Lord 

W* JF ^ IkA ' """"V) 4 8 5- thata 

*»o. fciv i/^/ / little girl 


and terrified, at the feet of a pitying priest in 
the palace of the Kings of Burgundy. There has 
been many a sad little maid of ten, before and since 
the days of the fair-haired Princess Clotilda, but 
surely none had greater cause for terror and tears 
than she. For her cruel uncle, Gundebald, waging 
war against his brother Chilperic, the rightful King 
of Burgundy, had with a band of savage followers 
burst into his brother's palace and, after the fierce 
and relentless fashion of those cruel days, had mur- 
dered King Chilperic, the father of little Clotilda, 
the Queen, her mother, and the young Princes, 
her brothers ; and was now searching for her and 
her sister Sedelenda. to kill them also. 

Poor Sedelenda had hidden away in some other 
far-off corner ; but even as Clotilda clung for pro- 
tection to the robe of the good stranger-priest LI go 

St. Clotilda," the Jirst Queen of France. ] a. d. 485. 

By E. S. Brooks. 

of Rheims (whom the King, her father, had lodged 
in the palace, on his homeward journey from 
Jerusalem), the clash of steel drew nearer and 
nearer. Through the corridor came the rush of 
feet, the arras in the door-way was rudely flung 
aside, and the poor child's fierce pursuers, with her 
cruel uncle at their head, rushed into the room. 

" Hollo ! Here hides the game ! " he cried in 
savage exultation. " Thrust her away, Sir Priest, 
or thou diest in her stead. Not one of the tyrant's 
brood shall live. I say it ! " 

" And who art thou to judge of life or death ? " 
demanded the priest sternly, as he still shielded 
the trembling child. 

" I am Gundebald, King of Burgundy by the 
grace of mine own good sword and the right of 
succession," was the reply. " Trifle not with me. 
Sir Priest, but thrust away the child. She is un- 
lawful prize to do with as I will. Ho. Sigebert, 
drag her forth ! " 

Quick as a flash the brave priest stepped before 
the cowering child, and, with one hand still resting 
protecting])- on the girl's fair hair, he raised the 
other in stern and fearless protest, and boldly 
faced the murderous throng. 

'■ Back, men of blood ! " he cried. " Back ! Nor 
dare to lay hand on this young maid who hath 
here sought sanctuary ! " * 

Fierce and savage men always respect bravery 

* Under the Goths and Franks the protection of churches and prk 
sanctuary," and was respected even by the fiercest of pursuers. 

Copyright, 1SS4, by E. S. Uroc 

, when extended to persons in peril, was called the "right ot 
All rights reserved. 




in others. There was something so courageous 
and heroic in the act of that single priest in thus 
facing a ferocious and determined band, in defense 
of a little girl, — for girls were but slightingly re- 
garded in those far-off days, — that it caught the 
savage fancy of the cruel King. And this, joined 
with his respect of the Church's right of sanctuary, 
and with the lessening of his thirst for blood, now 
that he had satisfied his first desire for revenge, led 
him to desist. 

" So be it then," he said, lowering his threaten- 
ing sword. " I yield her to thee, Sir Priest. Look 
to her welfare and thine own. Surely a girl can do 
no harm." 

But King Gundebald and his house lived to 
learn . how far wrong was that unguarded state- 
ment. For the very lowering of the murderous 
sword that thus brought life to the little Princess 
Clotilda meant the downfall of the kingdom of 
Burgundy and the rise of the great and victorious 
nation of France. The memories of even a little 
maid of ten are not easily blotted out. 

Her sister, Sedelenda, had found refuge and 
safety in the convent of Ainay, near at hand, and 
there, too, Clotilda would have gone, but her uncle, 
the new King, said : " No, the maidens must be 
forever separated." He expressed a willingness, 
however, to have the Princess Clotilda brought up 
in his palace, which had been her father's, and 
requested the priest Ugo of Rheims to remain 
awhile, and look after the girl's education. In 
those days a king's request was a command, and 
the good LTgo, though stern and brave in the face 
of real danger, was shrewd enough to know that it 
was best for him to yield to the King's wishes. So 
he continued in the palace of the King, looking 
after the welfare of his little charge, until suddenly 
the girl took matters into her own hands, and 
decided his future and her own. 

The kingdom of Burgundy, in the days of the 
Princess Clotilda, was a large tract of country now 
embraced by southern France and western Switzer- 
land. It had been given over by the Romans to 
the Goths, who had invaded it in the year 413. It 
was a land of forest and vineyards, of fair valleys 
and sheltered hill-sides, and of busy cities that the 
fostering hand of Rome had beautified; while 
through its broad domain the Rhone, pure and 
sparkling, swept with a rapid current from Swiss 
lake and glacier, southward to the broad and beau- 
tiful Mediterranean. Lyons was its capital, and 
on the hill of Fourviere, overlooking the city be- 
low it, rose the marble palace of the Burgundian 
kings, near to the spot where, to-day, the ruined 
forum of the old Roman days is still shown to 

It had been a palace for centuries. Roman 

governors of " Imperial Gaul " had made it their 
head-quarters and their home ; three Roman Em- 
perors had cooed and cried as babies within its 
walls ; and it had witnessed also many a feast 
and foray, and the changing fortunes of Roman, 
Gallic, and Burgundian conquerors and over-lords. 
But it was no longer " home " to the little Princess 
Clotilda. She thought of her father and mother, 
and of her brothers, the little Princes with whom 
she had played in this very palace, as it now 
seemed to her, so many years ago. And the more 
she feared her cruel uncle, the more did she desire 
to go far, far away from his presence. So, after 
thinking the whole matter over, as little girls of 
ten can sometimes think, she told her good friend 
Ugo, the priest, of her father's youngest brother 
Godegesil, who ruled the dependent principality 
of Geneva, far up the valley of the Rhone. 

" Yes, child, I know the place," said Ugo. "A 
fair city indeed, on the blue and beautiful Lake 
Lemanus, walled in by mountains, and rich in corn 
and vineyards." 

"Then let us fly thither," said the girl. "My 
uncle Godegesil I know will succor us, and I shall 
be freed from my fears of King Gundebald." 

Though it seemed at first to the good priest 
only a child's desire he learned to think better 
of it when he saw how unhappy the poor girl 
was in the hated palace, and how slight were 
her chances for improvement. And so, one fair 
spring morning in the year 486, the two slipped 
quietly out of the palace ; and by slow and cautious 
stages, with help from friendly priests and nuns, 
and frequent rides in the heavy ox-wagons that 
were the only means of transport other than horse- 
back, they finally reached the old city of Geneva. 

And on the journey, the good Ugo had made the 
road seem less weary, and the lumbering ox-wagons 
less jolty and painful, by telling his bright young 
charge of all the wonders and relics he had 
seen in his journeyings in the East; but especi- 
ally did the girl love to hear him tell of the boy 
king of the Franks, Hlodo-wig, or Clovis, who lived 
in the priest's own boyhood heme of Tournay, in 
far-off Belgium, and who, though so brave and 
daring, was still a pagan, when all the world was 
fast becoming Christian. And as Clotilda listened, 
she wished that she could turn this brave young 
chief away from his heathen deities, Thor and Odin, 
to the worship of the Christians' God ; and, revolv- 
ing strange fancies in her mind, she determined 
what she would do when she "grew up," — as 
many a girl since her day has determined. But 
even as they reached the fair city of Geneva — 
then half Roman, half Gallic, in its buildings and 
its life — the wonderful news met them how this 
bov-king Clovis, sending a challenge to combat to 



the prefect Syagrius, the last of the Roman govern- 
ors, had defeated him in battle at Soissons, and 
broken forever the power of Rome in Gaul. 

War, which is never anything but terrible, was 
doubly so in those savage days, and the plun- 
der of the captured cities and homesteads was 
the chief return for 
which the barba- 
rian soldiers fol- 
lowed their lead- 
ers. But when the 
Princess Clo- 
tilda heard 
how, even in 
the midst 
of his 

on her enemies. Certainly, fourteen centuries of 
progress and education have made us more loving 
and less vindictive. 

But now that the good priest Ugo of Rheims 
saw that his own homeland was in trouble, he felt 
that there lay his duty. And Godegesil, the 


and plundering, the young Frankish chief spared 
some of the fairest Christian churches, he became 
still more her hero ; and again the desire to 
convert him from paganism and to revenge her 
father's murder took shape in her mind. For, 
devout and good though she was, this excellent 
little maiden of the year 4S5 was by no means 
the gentle-hearted girl of 1885, and, like most 
of the world about her, had but two desires : to 
become a good church-helper, and to be revenged 

king of 
feeling uneasy 
alike from the 
nearness of this boy 
conqueror and the pos- 
sible displeasure of his 
brother and over-lord, 
-Cing Gundebald, de- 
clined longer to shelter 
his niece in his palace 
at Geneva. 
"And why may I not go with you?" the girl 
asked of Ugo ; but the good priest knew that a 
conquered and plundered land was no place to 
which to convey a young maid for safety, and the 
Princess, therefore, found refuge among the sisters 
of the Church of St. Peter in Geneva. And 
here she passed her girlhood, as the record says, 
'• in works of piety and charity." 

So four more years went by. In the north, the 
bov chieftain, reaching manhood, had been raised 




aloft on the shields of his fair-haired and long- 
limbed followers, and with many a " hael ! " and 
shout had been proclaimed " King of the Franks." 
In the south, the young Princess Clotilda, now 
nearly sixteen, had washed the feet of pilgrims, 
ministered to the poor, and, after the manner of 
her day, had proved herself a zealous church- 
worker in that low-roofed convent near the old 
church of St. Peter, high on that same hill in Gen- 
eva where to-day, hemmed in by narrow streets and 
tall houses, the cathedral of St. Peter, twice re- 
builded since Clotilda's time, overlooks the quaint 
city, the beautiful lake of Geneva, and the rushing 
Rhone, and sees across the valley of the Arve the 
gray and barren rocks of the Petit Seleve and the 
distant snows of Mont Blanc. 

One bright summer day, as the young Princess 
passed into the Iwspitium, or guest-room for poor 
pilgrims, attached to the convent, she saw there a 
stranger, dressed in rags. He had the wallet and 
staff of a mendicant, or begging pilgrim, and, 
coming toward her, he asked for " charity in the 
name of the blessed St. Peter, whose church thou 

The young girl brought the pilgrim food, and 
then, according to the custom of the day, kneel- 
ing on the earthen floor, she began to bathe his 
feet. But as she did so, the pilgrim, bending for- 
ward, said in a low voice : 

" Lady, I have great matters to announce to thee, 
if thou deign to permit me to reveal them." 

Pilgrims in those days were frequently made the 
bearers of special messages between distant friends ; 
but this poor young orphan princess could think of 
no one from whom a message to her might come. 
Nevertheless, she simply said: " Say on." 

In the same low tone the beggar continued : 
" Clovis, King of the Franks, sends thee greeting." 

The girl looked up now, thoroughly surprised. 
This beggar must be a madman, she thought. 
But the eyes of the pilgrim looked at her re- 
assuringly, and he said: "In token whereof, he 
sendeth thee this ring by me, his confidant and 
comitates,* Aurelian of Soissons." 

The Princess Clotilda took, as if in a dream, the 
ring of transparent jacinth set in solid gold, and 
asked quietly : 

" What would the King of the Franks with 
me ? " 

" The King, my master, hath heard from the 
holy Bishop Remi and the good priest Ugo of thy 
beauty and discreetness," replied Aurelian ; " and 
likewise of the sad condition of one who is the 
daughter of a royal line. He bade me use all my 
wit to come nigh to thee, and to say that, if it be 

the will of the gods, he would fain raise thee to his 
rank by marriage." 

Those were days of swift and sudden surprises, 
when kings made up their minds in royal haste, 
and princesses were not expected to be surprised 
at whatever they might hear. And so we must 
not feel surprised to learn that all the dreams of 
her younger days came into the girl's mind, and 
that, as the record states, " she accepted the ring 
with great joy." 

" Return promptly to thy lord," she said to the 
messenger, "and bid him, if he would fain unite 
me to him in marriage, to send messengers without 
delay to demand me of mine uncle, King Gunde- 
bald, and let those same messengers take me away 
in haste, so soon as they shall have obtained per- 

For this wise young Princess knew that her 
uncle's word was not to be long depended upon, 
and she feared, too, that certain advisers at her 
uncle's court might counsel him to do her harm 
before the messengers of King Clovis could have 
conducted her beyond the borders of Burgundy. 

Aurelian, still in his pilgrim's disguise, for he 
feared discovery in a hostile country, hastened 
back to King Clovis, who, the record says, was 
"pleased with his success and with Clotilda's 
notion, and at once sent a deputation to Gunde- 
bald to demand his niece in marriage." 

As Clotilda foresaw, her uncle stood in too much 
dread of this fierce young conqueror of the North to 
say him nay. And soon, in the palace at Lyons, so 
full of terrible memories to this orphan girl, the 
courteous Aurelian, now no longer in beggar's rags, 
but gorgeous in white silk and a flowing sagam, or 
mantle of vermilion, publicly engaged himself, as 
the representative of King Clovis, to the Princess 
Clotilda ; and, according to the curious custom of 
the time, cemented the engagement by giving to 
the young girl a sou and a denier.^ 

"Now deliver the Princess into our hand, O 
King," said the messenger, " that wc may take 
her to King Clovis, who waiteth for us even now 
at Chalons to conclude these nuptials." 

So, almost before he knew what he was doing, 
King Gundebald had bidden his niece farewell ; 
and the Princess, with her escort of Frankish spears, 
was rumbling away in a clumsy basterne, or covered 
ox-wagon, toward the frontier of Burgundy. 

But the slow-moving ox-wagon by no means 
suited the impatience of this shrewd young Prin- 
cess. She knew her uncle, the King of Burgundy, 
too well. When once he was roused to action, he 
was fierce and furious. 

" Good Aurelian," she said at length to the 

* One of the King's special body-guard, from which comes the title Cojnpt or Count. 
tTwo pieces of old French coin, equaling about a cent and a mill in American money. 


66 5 

King's ambassador, who rode by her side ; " if that 
thou wouldst take me into the presence of thy lord, 
the King of the Franks, let me descend from this 
carriage, mount me on horseback, and let us speed 
, hence as fast as 

we may, for never 
in this carriage 
shall I reach the 
presence of my 
lord, the King." 

And none too 
soon was her ad- 
vice acted upon ; 
for the counselors 
of King Gunde- 
bald, noticing Clo- 
tilda's anxiety to 

If Clotilda become powerful, be sure she will 
avenge the wrong thou hast wrought her." 

And forthwith the King sent off an armed band, 
with orders to bring back both the Princess and 
the treasure he had sent with her as her marriage 
portion. But already the Princess and her escort 
were safely across the Seine, where, in the Cam- 
pania, or plain-country, — later known as the 
Province of Champagne, — she met the King of 
the Franks. 

I am sorry to be obliged to confess that the first 
recorded desire of this beautiful, brave, and de- 
vout young maiden, when she found herself safely 
among the fierce followers of King Clovis, was a 
request for vengeance. But we must remember, 
girls and boys, that this is a story of half-savage 
days when, as I have already said, the desire 


be gone, concluded that, after all, they had made 
a mistake in betrothing her to King Clovis. 

"Thou shouldst have remembered, my lord," 
they said, "that thou didst slay Clotilda's father, 
her mother, and the voting Princes, her brothers. 

for revenge on one's enemies was common to 

From the midst of his skin-clad and green-robed 
guards and nobles, young Clovis — in a dress of 
"crimson and gold, and milk-white silk," and with 




his yellow hair coiled in a great top-knot on his 
uncovered head — advanced to meet his bride. 

•' My lord King," said Clotilda, " the bands of 
the King of Burgundy follow hard upon us to bear 
me off. Command, I pray thee, that these, my es- 
cort, scatter themselves right and left for two-score 
miles, and plunder and burn the lands of the King 
of Burgundy." 

Probably in no other way could this wise young 
girl of seventeen have so thoroughly pleased the 
fierce and warlike young king. He gladly ordered 
her wishes to be carried out, and the plunderers 
forthwith departed to carry out the royal command. 

So her troubles were ended, and this Prince 
and Princess, — Hlodo-wig, orClovis (meaning the 
"warrior youth"), and Hlodo-hilde, or Clotilda 
(meaning the "brilliant and noble maid"), — in 
spite of the wicked uncle Gundebald, were married 
at Soissons, in the year 493, and, as the fairy stories 
say, "lived happily together ever after." 

The record of their later years has no place in 
this sketch of the girlhood of Clotilda ; but it is one 
of the most interesting and dramatic of the old- 
time historic stories. The dream of that sad little 
princess in the old convent at Geneva, " to make 
her boy-hero a Christian, and to be revenged on 
the murderer of her parents," was in time fulfilled. 
For on Christmas Day, in the year 493, the young 
King and three thousand of his followers were 
baptized amid gorgeous ceremonial in the great 
church of St. Martin at Rheims. 

The story of the young Queen's revenge is not to 
be told in these pages. But, though terrible, it is 

only one among the many tales of vengeance that 
show us what fierce and cruel folk our ancestors 
were, in the days when passion instead of love ruled 
the hearts of men and women, and of boys and 
girls as well ; and how favored are we of this nine- 
teenth century, in all the peace and prosperity and 
home happiness that surround us. 

But from this conversion, as also from this re- 
venge, came the great power of Clovis and Clo- 
tilda ; for, ere his death, in the year 511, he brought 
all the land under his sway from the Rhine to the 
Rhone, the ocean and the Pyrenees ; he was hailed 
by his people with the old Roman titles of Consul 
and Augustus, and reigned victorious as the first 
King of France. Clotilda, after years of wise 
counsel and charitable works, upon which her 
determination for revenge seems to be the only 
stain, died long after her husband, in the year 
545, and to-day, in the city of Paris, which was 
even then the capital of new France, the church 
of St. Clotilda stands as her memorial, while her 
marble statue may be seen by the traveler in the 
great palace of the Luxembourg. 

A typical girl of those harsh old days of long 
ago, — loving and generous toward her friends, un- 
forgiving and revengeful to her enemies, — reared 
in the midst of cruelty and of charity, she did her 
duty according to the light given her, made France 
a Christian nation, and so helped on the progress 
of civilization. Certainly a place among the world's 
Historic Girls may rightly be accorded to this fair- 
haired young Princess of the summer-land of 
France, the beautiful Clotilda of Burgundy. 

By Alice Wellington Rollins. 

" Oh, dear! " sighed Johnny, as he threw him- 
self down on the ground one Saturday morning, all 
out of breath after his long run to the woods, where 
he had gone to get rid of the very sight and sound 
of teachers and books. " How I wish I could camp 
out here for the summer, like that anemone over 
there : that is, as long as there is any blue sky." 

" Is the sky blue ? " asked a little voice near him, 
very plaintively. 

It was the Anemone. 

" Why, don't you see how blue it is ? " answered 

" How can I see, when I have n't any eyes? " 

"That's so! you haven't any eyes; I never 
thought of that. Still, it seems to me you have 
rather a nice thing of it out here, anyhow ; plenty 
of cool air and shade, with just enough sunshine." 

" Yes," said the the little flower, wistfully ; " it 's 
very nice, all except the bears." 

" Bears ! " exclaimed Johnny. " Why, you 're 
not afraid of a bear, are you ? Bears don't care 
anything about anemones ; no bear would run 
after yoa ! " 

" No ; he would n't run after me, but he might 
run over me, you see ; and that 's why I 'm afraid 
of them." 



" But there are n't any bears here," said Johnny. 

" How do you know that ? " asked the Anemone. 

" Why, I 've read about bears in books, and my 
teachers have told me something about them, too. 
There are grizzly bears out in the Rocky mountains, 
and polar bears up in the Arctic regions ; but there 
are n't any bears at all in these woods." 

'• Dear me ! " said the Anemone. " How splen- 
did it must be to be able to know things ! If you 
only knew what a load you have taken off my 
mind ! So your teacher told you that ; do you 
suppose I could hire a teacher to come out here 
and teach me ? " 

" I don't know," answered Johnny, doubtfully. 
" I guess not ; teachers have to be paid, you know, 
and you don't earn any money, I suppose ? " 

" No," said the little flower, ruefully. " I can't 
earn money ; can you ? " 

" Yes, indeed ! perfect heaps of it, shoveling 
snow and weeding the garden, and such things. 
But then I don't have to pay the teacher with 
that; Papa pays the teacher. I spend my money 
for candy and things. When I 'm a man, I expect 
to earn money enough to have everything I want." 

" Dear me ! what would I not give for such a 
chance as yours," said the Anemone. " I should 
like so much to learn things ; you don't happen to 
know any teacher who would come and teach me 
for nothing, do you ? " 

" No," said Johnny, decidedly, " I don't. But 
I '11 tell you what I could do : I could bring some 
of the boys out here to tell you things." 

" And do they know a great deal? " 

"Well, we don't know as much as the teachers, 
of course; but we know more," — Johnny hes- 
itated a moment, trying to put the matter as deli- 
cately as possible, — "we know more than some 

" And do you learn something every day? " 

" Yes," said Johnny, altera moment's reflection ; 
" we learn something every day." 

" Then by and by you '11 know a lot ? " 

"Yes, indeed," asserted Johnny, more confi- 
dently this time. " When I 'm a man, I shall 
probably know all there, is to be known." 

" Dear me ! What a chance! But when will 
you bring the boys ? " 

" Next Saturday, perhaps." 

" Next Saturday ! " exclaimed the little flower 
in dismay. " Why I sha'n't be alive next Satur- 
day ! I only live twenty-four hours, you know. 
How many hours do you live ? " 

" Hours ! " exclaimed Johnny. " Why, I hope 
to live seventy-five years, and may be I shall live 
longer than that." 

" Seventy-five years to live to learn things in ! 
— and a teacher too i Oh, what a chance ! " 

"Well, it's evident you ought to begin your 
education at once," said Johnny, with decision. 
"As you haven't much time to spare, don't you 
think," — again Johnny hesitated a moment; then 
he asked, a little doubtfully : 

" Would you mind being picked ? " 

" Would I mind being picked ! '' shrieked the 
Anemone. " How would you like to have your 
head snapped off? " 

" Not very well; but you seemed so anxious to 
learn " 

" That 's very true," said the Anemone thought- 
fully. " It 's worth a good deal of a sacrifice. It 
was such a relief to know about the bears ! and 
I suppose, if you could n't learn things any other 
way, you would be willing to have a leg or an arm 
cut off, would n't you ? " 

"Well," said Johnny, evading the question, 
" I was just thinking that if you did n't mind being 
picked, I could take you home to Mother; and 
just by hearing her talk, you would learn heaps 
of things." 

'• Mother?" asked the Anemone, lifting her lit- 
tle face eagerly. " What is a mother ? " 

"Well, I declare!" exclaimed Johnny. "Not 
to know what a mother is ! I 'm sure I don't 
know how to tell you about her ; you have to have 
a mother to know what she is. She 's a dreadful 
thing not to have. I suppose you 're like Topsy, 
and just ' growed ' ? " 

' ' Is Topsy your sister ? " 

"No, indeed; Topsy is a story," explained 

" But how do you know stories ? " 

"Why, I read them," said Johnny. 

" And do your teachers teach you to read ? " 

"Yes," said Johnny, reluctantly, conscious that 
he was confessing a great deal of indebtedness to 
the very teachers and books he had "just hated" 
so, that very morning. 

" I think you may pick me," said the little 
Anemone softly. "It may hurt me some, but I 
would rather know something before I die. Please 
pick me right away, and take me home to your 
mother! " 

"I'll tell you what I could do," suggested 
Johnny. " I could take you up, roots and all, with- 
out picking you off the stem, and carry you home 
in my basket. And if any one can make you live 
a little longer than twenty-four hours, Mother can." 

" O, you dear, lovely boy!" said the grateful 
little Anemone, as Johnny lifted it carefully into 
his basket, roots and all. " Now you can talk to 
me all the way, and tell me things ; for, as you 
say, I have n't any time to spare." 

" Well," said Johnny as he trudged along, 
" I 'm sure I did n't think / should ever be a 




teacher. Do you know," — he paused again, 
in his endeavor to speak very politely, — " do you 
know — anything? " 

"Not much," said the little flower humbly. 
" I only know what you 've told me this morning." 

" Well, that 's something to begin with," said 
Johnny, encouragingly. " I don't always know 
what my teacher has told me in the morning. 
Dear me ! that reminds me ; he did tell me this 
morning that if I were going to the woods to-day, 
he wished 1 would bring him an anemone for his 
collection. Now, if you like, you can be pressed 
and put into a book, and have your name written 
under you, and be shown to lots and lots of chil- 

dren ; and then, don't you see, you '11 be a teacher, 
too ; and, between you and me, it 's a great deal 
better fun to teach than to learn ! " 

"Is it?" said the Anemone, eagerly. " I like 
learning so much, that it doesn't seem as if I could 
like teaching any better. But I think I shall let 
you press me and put me in the book ! " 

And when Johnny brought his teacher the 
Anemone, and told him about it, the teachersmiled, 
and wrote on the black-board as the day's motto for 
all the children to learn by heart : "Remember, 
nothing is so insignificant but it may teach some- 
thing, and no one so wise but he may learn some- 
thin?! " 


By Irene Putnam. 

Night is here, night is here ; 
Lullaby, oh, baby dear. 
Now the crickets carol shrill, 
Fairies dance on moonlit hill, 
In the forest dark and green 
Merry elfins sport unseen. 
Lullaby, oh, baby dear ; 
Night is here. 

Hush, my love ! hush, my love ! 
For the bright moon shines above ; 
Starlets blink their yellow eyes 
All night long in peaceful skies ; 
All night long their watch they keep, 
Lullaby, oh, baby, sleep. 
Now the bright moon shines above ; 
Hush, my love ! 

Singing low, singing low, 
Little night-winds come and go; 
Hear their footsteps as they pass 
Softly o'er the dewy grass. 
Nearer now, and now away 
In the dusky trees at play, 
Little night-winds come and go, 
Singing low. 

Angels white, angels white, 
Guard my pretty babe to-night ; 
Softly o'er his cradle lean, 
Tell him of your home unseen, 
Where there is no night nor gloom, 
Where unfading flowers bloom. 
Guard my pretty babe to-night, 
Angels white. 




By J. T. Trowbridge. 

Chapter XXII. 

Eli Badger's chief feeling, when he saw what 
he and his hickory cane had accomplished, was 
not pity for his victim, — whom he might have 
thought rightly served, whatever the result, — but 
alarm at his own share in the affair. 

To be summoned before the court to answer the 
charge of soundly beating a boy caught pillaging his 
vines, was something he had generally thought he 
could stand, if the boy could. But breaking skulls, 
in punishment for the offense of stealing a few grapes, 
was quite another thing. And he was not certain 
that this boy had touched a cluster. 

" Who are ye ? Why don't ye speak ? " he said, 
trying to get the boy into a sitting posture. 
" None of your make-believe with me ! " 

But the boy would not sit ; and it was soon too 
painfully apparent that there was no "make- 
believe " in the business. Something warm and 
wet dropped from the still face upon his hand ; 
and he was filled with consternation. 

He lifted the limp and nerveless body, and was 
not relieved when he found what a mere lad he had 
set upon with his cruel bludgeon. If he had 
knocked down a man, like himself, it would n't 
have seemed quite so bad. 

It was a sorry job for Eli, who foresaw that it 
might cost him much money and more trouble. 
But he was not so brutal a person as many be- 
lieved. He had not intended to hurt the boy so 
badly, and he now carefully lifted the unconscious 
Christopher and carried him to the house. 

Mrs. Eli Badger was washing the supper dishes 
at the kitchen sink, and Miss Lydia Badger (aged 
seventeen) was wiping them, by the light of a 
kerosene lamp, when the door was burst open, and 
in came the husband and father bearing his burden! 

The shock of the spectacle, as the lamplight 
shone on Kit's insensible form, cost the family a 
plate, which escaped from Miss Lydia's hand and 
fell clattering to the floor. Mrs. Badger dropped 
her dish-rag and ejaculated : 

" The land ! What 's the matter ? " 

" I 've hit a boy I caught hookin' grapes," 
said Eli. " I 'm 'fraid he 's hurt. Make room on 
the lounge there ! " 

" Merthy thak'th ! Who ith it? " said Lydia — 
a plump young lad)- with very light banged hair, 
a fair, full face, and a lisp. 

" I have n't the least idee," said Eli. " Don't 
stan' starin', but bring your cam fire-bottle, quick!" 

This last remark was addressed to Mrs. Badger, 
as any one acquainted with the family might have 
known by the tone of voice. Eli had a mild way 
of speaking to his daughter, and a harsh way of 
addressing his wife, which revealed much concern- 
ing his domestic relations. 

"Do you know him ? I thought prob'bly you 

This was uttered in the gentle voice, and Lydia 
answered accordingly : 

"No, I don't believe I ever thaw him before. 
What made you thtrike him tho hard, Pa ? He 'th 
too nithe looking a boy to be thtealing grapeth ! " 

She was tenderly wiping the stains from Kit's 
face, when a faint voice, half-muffled by the wet 
napkin she was using, startled them, almost as if 
the dead had spoken. 

" I was n't stealing grapes ! " 

It was the voice of Kit, reviving without the 
aid of the " camfire-bottle," which the frightened 
Mrs. Badger was just then hurriedly bringing. 
The wet napkin had quickened his breath and 
brought him out of his swoon. 

Thereupon Eli forgot his terrors, and remem- 
bered his wrath. 

"Wa'n't stealin' grapes!" he repeated, as 
soon as he saw by Kit's opening eyes that the 
worst danger was over. "What was ye at my 
trellises fur ? " 

Kit sat up with some difficulty, and lifted his 
hand with a vague and unhappy notion that the 
head on his shoulders belonged to somebody else, 
and that it was sadly in need of repairs. He 
dropped his arm quickly, however, with a twinge in 
the part that had come in contact with the Badger 
cudgel, and sat staring in a feeble and sickly way 
at Eli, on one stout knee before him, at Miss Badger 
with her sympathetic face and flaxen hair, and 
lastly at Mrs. Badger, thrusting an impertinent 
bottle at his nose. 

Then he made a faint effort to explain. 

"I was coming to find you, — if this is Mr. 
Badger," — said Kit, judging by the square build of 
the man that it was indeed he. " Please don't ! " 

This querulous appeal was addressed to the 
holder of the bottle, as the powerful odor of the 
camphor gave his nostrils a most unpleasant sur- 




" That 's my name. What did you want of me, 
ef not grapes?" said Eli, incredulous. 

Kit answered in broken sentences : 

" I was at the oyster saloon. In the village. I 
heard some young fellows talk of robbing your 
trellises. — To-night. — I thought you ought to 

So saying, he put up his hand again, still curi- 
ous to know what there was so peculiar about the 
head he was carrying. 

In answer to Eli's questions, he told all he could 

He turned again to Christopher. 

"What did you run fer, if you was comin' to 

said Kit. " Besides, I 
And I did n't know that 

" You frightened me, 
did n't. know it was you. 
you would know that I 

Here he put up his hand again to that trouble- 
some head of his. 

"Where do you feel hurt?" asked the com- 
passionate Lydia. 

" My head. And my shoulder, I guess. And 

''i'd like to take back that last blow,' SAID ELI." 

remember, or had strength to repeat, of the con- 
versation he had overheard. 

" And you whacked him over the head when he 
wath comin' to give you warning ! " exclaimed the 
excitedLydia. " Ifthatithn't jutht too awful thad ! " 

" Of course, I took him for a thief, himself." 
said the father, in his mild voice — " comin' on to 
the premises that way ! " 

"What a dreffle mistake!" murmured Mrs. 

"How do you know whether 't was a mistake 
or not?" growled the husband in his gruff voice. 
" I caught him at my grapes. And I struck him. 
Though I did n't mean ter strike him quite so 
hard. How do I know now but what he was 
helpin' himself, or goin' to?" 

my — I don't know ; I feel bad all over," murmured 
Kit, looking very pale, and sinking back on the 

" Bathe his head in the camfire," suggested the 

" Why don't ye do it then, and not stan' talkin' 
o' doin' it ? " cried the surly voice of Eli. 

"Had n't we better thend for the doctor?" 
hinted the daughter. 

"I'll see, bime-by ; I guess he '11 come out on 't ; 
I hope he will," the amiable voice made answer. 
" If he was comin' to find me, why under the sun 
did n't he come in the front way ? " 

At that, Kit roused up again. 

" I thought the lane was the front way. I did n't 
see any other. I never was here before." 

i88 S .: 



Miss Lydia arranged a shawl under Kit's shoul- 
ders, and he lay on the lounge, tranquil but 
very pale, while Mrs. Badger bathed the rapidly 
swelling bunch she found on his organ of self- 

" Where 's my cap ? " he faintly inquired. 

" Here 't ith," replied Lydia. " It dropped off 
when Pa wath bringing you into the houthe." 

Eli had risen and was walking the room, while 
his wife and daughter attended the sufferer. 

" If ye was re'ly comin' to give me warnin'," 
said he, " I 'm sorry I was so hasty ; I 'd like to take 
back that last blow." 

" I 'd like to have you take 'em all back ! " 
murmured Kit, with a pallid smile, his sense of the 
humorous asserting itself in the midst of his weak- 
ness and pain, "and keep 'em for those other 
fellows ! " 

' ' I 've been pestered to death by boys hookin' 
my fruit," Eli went on, in self-defense. " You 
would n't wonder that I was mad sometimes ! It 's 
hard to catch 'cm at it ; and if I do once, they 
're full of their humbug excuses — innocent as 
babes ! T' other evenin' one came walkin' right 
in among the vines where I was keepin' watch, 
and two others after him. I got right up from 
where I was hidin', and faced him. Did he run ? 
Not a step ! But jes' 's I was goin' to grab him, 
he looks me cool in the face and says, ' Good- 
evenin', Mr. Badger ! We 've called to see 
if you '11 be willin' to sell us a few bushels of 
your nice grapes, when they git ripe ; we don't 
suppose they 're quite ripe enough to pick yit.' 
They 'd have thought they were ripe enough if I 
had n't been there. But what could I do but give 
'em a piece o' my mind ? I 've regretted ever since 
that I did n't give 'em a whalin' ! Mebbe I gave 
it to the wrong one, when I give it to you," he said, 
pausing and looking down at Christopher. " But 
how do I know this story 'bout your comin' to warn 
me is n't of a piece with their pretense about wantin' 
to buy? " 

Kit had experienced so much trouble lately in 
getting people to accept his explanations, that he 
had not heart to answer. He said, however, rather 
stolidly, after a pause: 

" You need n't believe me ; but if you find your 
grapes gone in the morning, perhaps you '11 wish 
you had." 

" I shall keep watch," said Eli, with a peculiarly 
grim expression of the square-set jaws. " Who 
are ye, anyway ? Where do ye live ? " 

"My name is Christopher Downimede, and I 
live in East Adam." 

" East Adam ! That 's a long way off ! What's 
your business around here ? " 

"I'm on my way home from Peaceville," Kit 

answered. He did not deem it a favorable moment 
to introduce the horse question. 

" Been to the cattle show ? " asked Eli. 

"Yes, I have," replied Christopher. 

" I was there yesterday," Mr. Badger resumed. 
" I had some grapes and pears on exhibition which 
had oughter take prizes. 'T aint much of a show ; 
Fair's are all runnin' to hoss-racin' nowadays." 

Lydia smiled to see her father so civil to the 
young stranger, whose hurts she was nursing. He 
was rarely so gracious to any one but her. 

" Seems to me you came consider'bly out o' 
your way," he added. 

" I had a little business this way," Kit replied. 

" Did n't expect to get to East Adam to-night, 
did ye ? " persisted Eli. 

" No; I was going to stay in the village back 
here. But I thought I ought to come — and tell 
you — about the grape-thieves." 

His voice faltered ; he looked as if he were going 
to faint again. Miss Lydia regarded him with ten- 
der concern. 

" He wont have to go away from here to-night, 
will he ? " she appealed to her father. " I don't 
thee how he can ! " 

Chapter XXIII. 

Eli Badger was still averse to calling the doc- 
tor, but he did not see that he could do less for 
the boy to whom he had given so gratuitous a beat- 
ing, than to put him to bed in his own house. The 
bed was accordingly prepared, and Kit was weary 
and weak enough to fall asleep almost as soon as 
Eli had helped him into it. 

" He got a pooty hard hit, that 's a fact ! " said 
the dealer of the blows, as he returned to the 

" Ith he any worthe ? Are you going for the 
doctor?" Lydia inquired, seeing her father put 
on his hat and button his coat. 

"He does n't want a doctor," said the soft side 
of Eli. " I 'm goin' for Mahoney." 

Mahoney was his hired man, who lived a little 
farther up the road. 

" To get him to watch with you ? " Mrs. Badger 
meekly asked. 

"What else do you s'pose I want him for, at 
this time o' night ? " Eli's hard side sharply re- 
sponded. " You go to bed. you two, and never 
mind about me. Have the lights out by nine 
o'clock, anyhow. There '11 be fun by moonlight 
about 'leven, ef this boy tells the truth." 

" Of courthe he tellth the truth ; anybody can 
thee that," said Lydia. " I hope you wont whack 
the wrong perthons again." 

" No danger this time ! " replied the father. 




And he went out of the house, and did not 
return to it until midnight. 

Kit awoke the next morning with a sore head, a 
lame shoulder, and a stunned and dizzy feeling 
which recalled, disagreeably, his adventures of the 
night before. He lay thinking it over, and won- 
dering what he should do about Dandy — at the 
same time gazing listlessly at the odd figures on the 
wall-paper of Mrs. Badger's best room — when 
Mr. Badger walked in. 

That square-visaged, broad-backed worthy was 
in his most amiable frame of mind. He inquired 
after Kit's health, and said cheeringly : 

"Got along pretty well 'ithout a doctor, hey? 
Wa' n't hurt so very bad, after all, was ye ? " 

" I should n't care to be hurt much worse, unless 
I wanted to put my friends to the trouble of a fu- 
neral." Kit replied, with a smile of feeble pleasantry. 

"Wall" said Eli, with a grin of satisfaction, 
" that 's a toler'ble stiff stick I thumped ye with, 
no mistake ! You should 'a' come in t' other way. 
But ye meant it for a favor to me ; and 7 was a 

"Did they come for the grapes?" Kit asked, 

Eli Badger indulged in a sinister laugh. 

" They did ! They was true to their app'int- 
ment. They came with a one-hoss team and bas- 
kets and boxes, prepared to jest clean my vines 
out. But I was on hand, an' so was my man. We 'd 
been hid fur nigh two hours, an' had had a pretty 
lonesome time on 't too, when we heard some- 
body come 'round reconn'iterin'. an' bime-by a 
wagon stopped jest a little way down the road." 

" Fartherthan the corner of the lane? "askedKit. 

"Yes; some rods. If it had stopped there, it 
would n't have got away ; I was hid by the fence, 
on the watch for 't. As 't was, we gave our 'ten- 
tion to the men ; waited till the rascals were well 
started pickin', an' then rushed out on 'em." 
Eli chuckled grimly. " 'T was moonlight. You 
should 'a' been there to see the fun ! You 've no 
idee on 't ! " 

" Yes, I have," said Kit. remembering his share 
in some very similar fun a few hours earlier, and 
imagining the surprise it must have been to the 
rogues when the ponderous Eli made his onset. 
" Did you catch anybody ? " 

" I knocked one down, and my Irishman grabbed 
him. Then I thumped another and grabbed 
him, and I might have disabled a third, if I had n't 
been afraid o' strikin' too hard with that stick ; 
my overdoin' the thing with you had taught me a 
lesson ! He drove away with the wagon. We did 
pretty well, though. We got two baskets and a 
bushel box, 'sides our prisoners ; and I know who 
thev all are." 

" What did you do with the two you caught ? " 
Kit asked. 

" Marched 'em down to town, found a watchman, 
and had 'em locked up," said Eli. "I '11 have 
out warrants for the others this mornin', and make 
things lively for the hull lot. I 'm much obliged 
to you ! " he added, with hearty emphasis. 

" You are quite welcome, I am sure," mur- 
mured Kit. 

Just then came a little rap at the door, and Miss 
Badger's lisp was heard. 

" Breakfatht, Pa! Can he come? I 've got 
hith ham and eggth a-cookin'." 

"Come, can't ye?" said Eli. " Ye 'II feel more 
chipper after ye 've got suthin' warm into yer 
stomach ; don't ye b'leeve ye will ? Guess ye 
will ! " 

" I hope so. I '11 try," Kit answered, bestirring 

He had already made two or three attempts to 
rise, but had sunk back again with a faint and giddy 
sensation. The stout-limbed Eli, full of kindly and 
hospitable feelings for his guest, now came to his 
assistance; and the boy, sitting up, put his bare 
feet upon the painted floor ; then carefully rested 
his weight upon them. 

" I shall be all right after a while," he said. 
"Don't keep your breakfast waiting for me." 

"It can wait as well as not," replied Eli. 
" We 're in no hurry this mornin'. My Irishman, 
after bein' up half the night, wont be around for 
an hour or two. And I 've nothiir to do but to 
look after our grape-stealers. Can I do anything 
more for ye ? " 

" Nothing," said Kit, glad to be left alone. 

He limped to the wash-stand, and felt refreshed 
after a free use of cold water about his head and 
neck. Then he stood before the little square 
looking-glass, by a small dressing-table covered 
with a white cloth, and with Mrs. Badger's best 
hair-brush and comb completed his toilet; wincing 
as he arranged the locks carefully about that part 
of his cranium which had been visited by the 
hickory stick. 

He found the breakfast waiting for him, and sat 
down with the family, feeling already much more 
comfortable in body and cheerful in mind than 
when he awoke. 

Two or three circumstances, however, interfered 
with his perfect enjoyment of a plain, substantial 

There were some not altogether agreeable things 
about the otherwise charming Lydia. She seemed 
to take her father's treatment of her mother as a 
matter of course, no doubt thinking it fully atoned 
for by his gentler manner toward herself. With 
her full, fair features and flaxen hair, — long and 




flying behind, but combed straight down in front, 
and cut precisely from ear to ear across the eye- 
brows, completely concealing her forehead, if she 
had one, — she sat opposite their guest, and seemed 


much of the time quite oblivious of her breakfast, 
in the interest she took in his own. But Kit dis- 
liked being stared at when he was eating, especially 
by a young lady with banged hair. 

Another thing tended to dampen the ardor of Kit's 
attack on the ham and eggs, — the thought of Dandy. 

There was much talk at table about the grape- 
VOL. XII. — 43. 

thieves, Eli relating over and over again how he 
had lain in ambush and rushed out upon them 
with his club, capturing or putting them to flight. 
At length, shoving back his chair, he remarked 

that he must 
drive to the vil- 
lage and see 
about swearing 
out warrants for 
them, the first 

" You 'd bet- 
ter not be in a 
hurry about leav- 
in' us," he said to 
the guest. "Stay 
and git recruited 
a little." 

He put on his 
hat and was go- 
ing to the barn, 
when Kit rose to 
follow him. 

"I think I 
should like to — 
to go out — and 
look at your 
horses and stock," 
he said, glanc- 
ing around, " if 
I could find my 

said Lydia, bring- 
ing it with alac- 

Eli waited for 
him to put it on, 
which Kit did 
cautiously, wear- 
ing it well on the 
back of his head 
to favor his pain- 
fully enlarged 
bump of self-es- 
teem ; and the 
two went out to- 

" Now do you 
see how you blun- 
dered ? " said Mr. Badger, showing the lane and 
the way into the lower part of it from the back 
door of the house. " If you 'd come down further, 
you 'd 'a' been all right, though the front way 'd 'a 
been better. The lane, ye see, goes straight to the 

The cattle-vard surrounded the barn, and at the 




end of the barn was the stable, the door of which 
stood broadly open. Kit, as he entered with Eli, 
and heard the sound of horses champing in their 
stalls, felt his bosom swell with intense expectation. 

" 1 lost a hoss a week ago," Mr. Badger re- 
marked, taking a curry-comb from a corner brace 
of the building. "One of the best hosses I ever 
owned. He broke his leg by puttin' it through a 
hole in the bridge, an' so he had to be killed. 
Town '11 have to pay the damages, or I miss my 
calc'lation. Whoa ! stan' 'round ! " 

He slapped the hip of the first horse with his 
comb, and passing into the stall, undid the halter. 

" I bought a new one to take its place day 'fore 
yesterday. Had a chance to buy cheap, over at 
Peaceville, at the cattle show. Back, ye brute ! " 

Kit held his breath ; it seemed to him that the 
slightest thing might burst his hope like a bubble, 
and awaken him from an illusion. 

Eli tied the halter to a staple in the rear of the 
stalls, and began to curry the animal. 

" 'T was as good a trade as ever I made," he said, 
between strokes of the comb. " I thought at first 
there might be suthin' wrong about thehoss, it was 
offered so cheap. But I know a good hoss when 
I see one ; and I know a broken-down, spavined, 
ring-boned beast when I see one. Nothin' wrong 
about this critter ! " 

"I — should — think — not," breathed Kit, al- 
most too excited to speak above a whisper, and 
forgetting all his hurts and pains in the thrilling 
joy of the moment. 

Chapter XXIV. 

" I COULD N'T tell whether the critter balked 
or not till 1 tried him," Eli Badger went on, full 
of the satisfaction inspired by his excellent bar- 
gain. " But I can't find that he has that fault, 
either. Stan' 'round, you brute ! " 

The horse "stood around " again, turning to- 
ward Christopher, in the broad light of the open 
door, a peculiarly marked, mottled side. 

" There might have been something wrong in 
the man's title to him," the boy suggested, with 
more confidence in his tones of voice. 

" I thought of that," said Eli. " But he told a 
pretty straight story. He 'd had to take the hoss 
for a debt, and was obliged to turn him into money, 
'T was a good chance, anyway ; I wanted jest such 
a hoss, and I thought I 'd take the risk. If any- 
body has a better claim to this animal now than I 
have, he '11 have to prove it, that 'sail. Stan' round, 
will ye ! " 

Kit observed the crinkles that had not yet dis- 
appeared from the lately braided foretop, and said, 

in as careless a tone as so deeply interested a boy 
could use : 

" Suppose a man with a claim on the horse 
should — happen along ? " 

" What 'd I do?" said Eli. " What 'd any 
man, that is a man, do in my place ? I 'd hold on 
to the beast as long as I could, sure as fate ! Any- 
body who knows me '11 tell ye that." 

"I suppose so," faltered Christopher. "But 
you might be putting yourself to a good deal of 
trouble and expense." 

" Likely enough ; but I 'd be puttin' the other 
fellow to a good deal of trouble and expense at the 
same time. That way I might force him to a com- 
promise. ' Here,' I 'd say, ' is a hoss worth a hun- 
dred and forty dollars. You 've lost him ; I 've 
bought him. Give me half that amount o' money 
and take him. I '11 git back what he cost me, any- 
how, if an owner does come along and prove prop- 
erty, — which is n't at all likely," added Eli, plying 
his comb. 

" Going to drive him this morning," Kit softly 

" No ; I drove him yis'day ; guess I '11 drive 
t' other one this mornin'. Thought I 'd rub him 
down, though, and see how he looked. Stan' round, 
I say ! Mighty likely hoss that, now," said Eli, 
" for seventy dollars ! " 

" I should think he was well worth twice that, 
as you say," replied Christopher. 

" I b'lieve he is," said Mr. Badger, " if he 's 
worth a penny. Oh, I struck a good bargain when 
I bought him ! " 

The other horse was then curried and harnessed, 
and Eli, telling Kit to make himself at home and 
" get recruited," drove away to see about " fixin' 
the grape-thieves," leaving Dandy Jim in the 

Kit went out and looked about the place, trying 
to calm his excitement and determine what he 
should do. Then he went back and feasted his 
hungry eyes on Dandy Jim once more. There 
could not possibly be any mistake this time about 
the identity of the horse. It had all Dandy's char- 
acteristic marks; it carried itself like Dandy, it 
looked like him out of the eyes, and it was shod 
behind and not before. 

The boy studied the horse a long while, then 
strolled up the lane, and looked off in the direction 
in which Eli had gone, all the while struggling with 
a great temptation. 

He was startled from his reveries by a lisping 
voice in the vineyard. 

"Don't you want to get thome grapcth ? I 
think you detherve thome, after latht night!" 
And the face of the fair Lydia looked over at him 
sweetlv from its frame of flaxen hair. 

i88 5 .) 



He accepted the invitation, but instead of climb- 
ing the fence, as on the night before, went around 
by the passage between the house and the cattle- 
yard. Lydia met him, and picked for him the 
finest clusters she could find. He thanked her, 
and, wishing to be alone, made off again toward 
the stable. 

She followed him, however, with her hands full 
of lovely Delawares and Concords, which she ate 
herself, and continued to urge upon him. 

" I gueth you 're fond of hortheth ! " she re- 
marked, seeing how absent-mindedly he let his 
longing eyes wander in the direction of the stalls. 

Kit confessed that circumstances had caused 
him lately to take a lively interest in those useful 

" My father bought a firtht-rate one for a mere 

He saw himself riding triumphantly through 
East Adam village, waving his cap at his mother 
as she ran to the door or window in answer to his 
gleeful call ; and finally astonishing Uncle and 
Aunt Gray, as he swung himself from Dandy's 
back at their door. And what was to prevent him 
from taking Duckford and Maple Park on his way? 

But could he repay Miss Badger's kindness by 
such an act of seeming treachery ? Strange as it 
may appear, her tempting proposal made it still 
more difficult for him to take possession of Dandy 
in an underhand way. 

He had tried his hand once at stealing him, — 
for he remembered how much it had seemed like 
stealing when he was betrayed into acting against 
the dictates of his conscience by Branlow's persua- 
sive cunning. Would it seem less like it now, — to 

thong, two or three dayth ago," she said, plucking secure his uncle's property by fraud or force, with 

grapes one by one from a bunch. "Have you 
theen him ?" 

" Your father showed him to me," replied Kit. 
" It 's a pretty fair-looking horse. Is he easy under 
the saddle ? " 

" I don't know," said Lydia. '• I never ride 
horthback. do you ? " 

"Sometimes; once in a great while," Kit an- 
swered dryly. 

" Do you like riding?" she asked, turning her 
beaming face full upon him, while she squeezed a 
plump Concord between her lips. 

"Yes, if I don't have too much of it at once," 
he replied, negligently eating the last of his 

"Pa 'th got a thaddle thomewhere," she went 
on, as they stood in the stable door. "You can 
take a little ride, if you think you would fanthy 
it. Would n't you like to ? " 

Here was his temptation again, in a more terrible 
form even than at first. Once on Dandy's back, 
and starting off for a little ride, — with Miss Bad- 
ger's smiling acquiescence, — would he be able to 
stop before he had ridden once more safely into 
Uncle Gray's front yard ? 

or without Lydia's innocent cooperation : 

He could imagine her parting smiles, as she saw 
him set off for his "little ride " ; then the growing 
solicitude with which she would watch for his 
return, — her anxiety becoming alarm, as the con- 
viction was gradually forced upon her mind that, 
if not a grape-thief, their youthful, honest-seeming 
guest was what was worse, — a horse-thief in dis- 
guise ! Then he could foresee Eli's rage on com- 
ing home and learning what had been done in his 

" Thank you," said Kit, hesitatingly; " I don't 
think — I care — to ride." 

He had mastered the temptation in its most 
enticing shape. And surely the proposed exer- 
cise was not such a novelty to him just then that 
he should desire merely to be jounced up and down 
by a hard-trotting horse. 

"I thuppothe you don't feel like it tho thoon, 
after latht night," said the sympathizing Lydia. 

"I 'm afraid it would be a little too much for 
my nerves " (meaning his good resolution), he 
replied, in a regretful tone. 

" I 'm thorry !" said Lydia, sweetly. " I 'd be 
tho glad to thee you have a nithe ride ! " 

(To be continued.) 





By E. S. Brooks. 


Squarely prim and stoutly built, 
Free from glitter and from gilt, 
Plain, — from lintel up to roof-tree and to belfry 
bare and brown — 
Stands the Hall that hot July,— 
While the folk throng anxious bv, — 
Where the Continental Congress meets within 
the Quaker town. 

Hark ! a stir, a sudden shout, 
And a boy comes rushing out, 
Signaling to where his grandsire in the belfry, 

waiting, stands; — 
"Ring!" he cries; " the deed is done! 

Ring! they've signed, and freedom's won!" 
And the ringer grasps the bell- rope with his strong 
and sturdy hands ; 
While the Bell, with joyous note 
Clanging from its brazen throat, 
Rings the tidings, all-exultant. — peals the news 
to shore and sea : 

"Man is man — a slave no longer; 

Truth and Right than Might are stronger. 
Praise to God.' We're free; we 're free ! " 


6 77 



Triumph of the builder's art, 
Tower and turret spring and start — 
As if reared by mighty genii for some Prince of 
Eastern land ; 

Where the Southern river flows. 
And eternal summer glows, — 
Dedicate to labor's grandeur, fair and vast the 
arches stand. 

And, enshrined in royal guise, 
Flower-bedecked 'neath sunny skies ; 
Old and time-stained, cracked and voiceless, but 
where all may see it well ; 

Prize the glorious relic then, 
With its hundred years and ten, 
By the Past a priceless heirloom to the Future 
handed down 

Still its stirring story tell, 
Till the children know it well, - 
From the joyous Southern city to the Northern 
Quaker town. 

Time that heals all wounds and scars, 
Time that ends all strifes and wars, 
Time that turns all pains to pleasures, and can 
make the cannon dumb, 

Circled by the wealth and power 
(If the great world's triumph-hour, — 
Sacred to the cause of freedom, on its dais rests 
the Bell. 

And the childen thronging near. 
Vet again the story hear 
Of the Bell that rang the message, pealing out 
to land and sea : 

■ Man is man — a slave no longer; 

Truth and Right than Might air stronger. 
Praise to God .' We 're free ; 7oe 're free .' " 

Still shall join in firmer grasp. 
Still shall knit in friendlier clasp 
North and South -land in the glory of the ages 
yet to come. 

And, though voiceless, still the Bell 
Shall its glorious message tell. 
Pealing loud o'er all the Nation, Lake to Gulf, 
and Sea to Sea: 

" Man is man — a slave no longer ; 

Truth and Right than Might are stronger. 
Praise to God.' We 're free : we're free/" 




A S C H O O L A F L O A T. 
By John H. Gibbons, U. S. N., and Charles Barnard. 



Little Decatur Jones had fully made up his 
mind that nothing but a sailor's life would satisfy 
him. The old sea-faring spirit of his forefathers 
was in the lad, and he chafed and fretted greatly 
under the restrictions of what he called his "hum- 
drum" country life. His father was dead, and his 
mother could not procure an appointment for him 
to the naval academy at Annapolis. But when 
she learned through the village postmaster that 
the United States Navy offered just such boys 
as Decatur Jones a good home, fair wages, and 
the sea-life he desired, she decided, after long 
deliberation, to let the boy have his way. 

And so it came about that, soon after her decis- 

ion, little Decatur stood on the pier at the foot of 
West Twenty-third street, New York, where a sea- 
soldier (called a " marine "), stood on guard at the 
landing and a little steam-launch bobbed against 
the pier waiting to take several boys out to the 
school-house. Think of starting for school in a 
steam launch ! 

The launch steamed out into the river and hauled 
alongside the steps of the school-house. And the 
school-house was a great war-ship. The boys 
climbed the high, black side of the ship and came 
out upon the shining white decks. There they found 
another marine on guard, while an officer and some 
young sailors were busy near at hand. 




The admission to the school is 
boy must be of robust figure, 
sound and healthy constitutio 
physical defects or malforma- 
tion ; he must be able to read 
an;l write ; and be of the 
standard height and measure- 
ment. All of these require- 
ments our young Decatur 
could meet satisfactorily ; yet 
it is a test which many boys 
fail to stand ; for, at a recent 
examination in Boston, out 
of nearly one hundred appli- 
cants, only twenty-six suc- 
ceeded in passing the requi- 
site physical examination. 

Then Decatur Jones signed 
his name to what are known 
as the "shipping articles," 
by which he agreed to serve 
continuously in the Navy of 
the United States until he 
was twenty-one years old ; 
and, having exhibited a print- 
ed form signed by his mother, 
in which she gave her consent 
to the step he had taken, he 
was declared a voluntarily 
enlisted third-class boy in the 



n, free 

United States Navy, with the 
pay of $9.50 per month, besides 
what is known as the navy " ra- 
tions " of thirty cents per day. 

The very next day saw Deca- 
tur Jones with a squad of other 
new recruits on board one of the 
steamers of the Fall River Line, 
bound for Newport, at which 
place they were at once trans- 
ferred to the school-ship "New 
Hampshire," anchored off Coast- 
ers' Harbor Island. 

Some six years ago, the State 
of Rhode Island presented this 
island of Coasters' Harbor to the 
United States, with the under- 
standing that it was to be used 
as a naval training station. It 
lies within a mile of the beauti- 
ful old city of Newport, and is 
separated from the main-land by 
a narrow strait spanned by a 
causeway. Anchored off this 
island lies the bluff-bowed old 
line-of-battle ship " New Hamp- 
shire," with numerous decks, 
enough. A from the ports of which protrude the muzzles of 
gent, of a ugly-looking guns. This is the cradle of the train- 
from any ing fleet — the real school afloat. All the other 






boys ready at any of these ships, they are 
sent, as was our friend Decatur Jones, 
to the stout old ship "'New Hampshire," 
at Coasters' Harbor. 

As Decatur clambered up the three 
long flights of gangway ladders and 
stepped upon the quarter-deck, he was 
met by a pleasant-looking gentleman, 
radiant with brass buttons and gold lace. 
This was the officer of the deck. He 
took Decatur's transfer papers 
from the trembling lad, looked 
him over from head to foot, 
and called for the master-at- 



ships, at New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Wash- 
ington, and San Francisco are simply the entering, 
or receiving, ships. As often as there are twenty 

The master-at-arms, whom Decatur soon learned 
to like, and to call, as did the other boys, from 
some as yet undiscovered reason, "Jimmy Legs," 


68 I 

doffed his cap and saluted the brass-buttoned 
officer of the deck. 

" Master-at-arms," said that dignitary, " you 
will see that this boy has a bath and that his 
hair is cut ; then take him down to the sick-bay 
to be vaccinated. After that, get him his bag and 
hammock; show him his 'swing' and how to 
' lash and carry.' " 

"Aye, aye, sir ! " responded "Jimmy," briskly, 
although the order was rattled off at such a rate that 
poor Decatur had no idea what the gentleman in 
brass buttons was talking about. But "Jimmy 
Legs " did ; and turning to Decatur, he said, "This 
way, lad," and led him at once into a large deck- 
house on the upper deck, where stand a dozen or 
more bath-tubs, beside the steam pump and boiler. 

The bath was soon over, and then, on the 
deck next below, Decatur's abundant hair was 
neatly clipped down to the regulation " short cut" 
by a boy barber ; after which he was taken to the 
hospital-room, known as the "sick-bay," upon a 
still lower deck, where he was vaccinated by the 
surgeon, a kind-looking old gentleman. 

After this intimation that cleanliness and health 
are among the most important considerations in 
the school of the sailor, Decatur was left to him- 
self and given a chance to look about him. He 
wandered through the great ship, gazed up at the 
tall masts and lofty spars with their masses of rig- 
ging, and felt certain that he would surely become 
dizzy were he to try to skip aloft, as could most 
of the five hundred boys who, in their natty blue 
uniforms, seemed to be in every part of the ship. 
He examined the great guns on the gun-deck, the 
ponderous capstans and heavy anchor-chains, the 
racks of burnished rifles and shining cutlasses, the 
brightly scoured mess-tables on the berth-deck, 
with their outfits of knives, forks, spoons, and pans 
shining like polished silver, until, tired and hungry, 
he began to wonder whether he was to have any 
supper and where he was to sleep. 

Just at the right moment along came " Jimmy 
Legs"again. " Here 's your station billet, my son," 
he said, handing the boy a small piece of printed 
paper. "Watch number, 22, port forecastle; 
that 's your hammock number also. At quarters 
you go with number two's gun crew, first division. 
Then here you have your station given for all the 
exercises with sails and spars. You belong to the 
first cutler's crew — that 's your boat, d' ye see? 
All the information in a nut-shell. There 's the 
call for mess formation sounding now, so run along 
and join your crew — number two, first division." 

" Dear me," thought Decatur, " I never can re- 
member all that. Number two — first division; I 
wonder what it means ? " 

But in the midst of his wondering a manly- 

looking boy, with two red chevrons on his arm, 
stepped up to him. 

" What 's your name ? " he asked. " Jones ? " 

" Yes ; Decatur Bainbridge Jones." 

" Well, my name 's Nelson, and I 'm captain of 
your gun's crew — number two, first division," said 
the new-comer. " Follow me, and I '11 show you 
where we fall in." 

Decatur, greatly relieved, followed his new friend 
along the line of boys, and was properly placed 
with his own crew. Then, after muster, all the 
crew marched down to a supper of bread and 
milk, and Decatur picked up plenty of information. 

" Who 's Commodore Duff? " he asked, catch- 
ing at the curious name as it passed among the 
boys. " Is he the head of the ship ? " 

" Well, we could n't get along without him very 
well," was the laughing reply. " Why, Duff 's our 
caterer, you know. He 's an Italian with a jaw- 
breaking name, and we call him Duff for short ; and 
does n't he feed us well, though ? You just ought 
to have seen our last Christmas dinner," — and 
there sounded a chorus of appreciative smacks in 
recollection of that Christmas dinner. 

Supper over, "Jimmy Legs" made his appear- 
ance again, loaded down with a hammock, mat- 
tress, blankets, a large black canvas bag, and a 
small square box. 

" This is your bed," he said to our friend Decatur, 
pointing to the hammock. " This is your clothes- 
bag, and this is your ditty-box for sewing gear, 
writing materials, and odds and ends. You will 
draw your clothing to-morrow, when the officer of 
your division has had a look at you. Now, come 
along and I '11 show you where to swing your ham- 

He led the way to the gun-deck. "" This is your 
berth," he said; " number twenty-two, same as 
your hammock number and watch number. I '11 
take care of your bag and box until to-morrow." 

Then he put up the hammock, arranged the 
bedding, and trotted quietly awny, while young 
Decatur, thoroughly tired out, found that a ham- 
mock is a much more comfortable bed than he 
imagined, and was soon sound asleep. 

The next morning, when Decatur had donned 
his blue shirt with its rolling collar, the loosely fit- 
ting trousers, and the jaunty cap with "New Hamp- 
shire " lettered in gold upon it, he felt himself in 
reality " every inch a sailor." And as he now be- 
comes one of the five hundred, and hence loses to 
a great degree his identity, we must leave him to 
share the fortunes of his comrades, while we take 
a more general look at what these fortunes are. 

The blast of bugles and flare of drums at early 
daylight is the " reveille," warning the young ap- 
prentices that it is time to " turn out." Should 





they forget this fact, there are any number of petty 
officers ready to impress it upon them. Twelve 
minutes are allowed in which to turn out, dress, 
lash hammocks, carry them on deck, and stow 
them in the nettings provided for the purpose. 
The next step is to carry out the morning orders, 


under the direction of the officer of the deck. The 
decks are swept clean, and the running rigging 
laid up neatly on the pins. The order is then 
passed to scrub and wash clothes. Each boy be- 
comes for the moment his own washerman, and, 
brush in hand, goes heartily at this laundry work. 



Smirched clothing is never tolerated ; so every day 
is wash-day, thereby giving all hands an opportun- 
ity to keep their clothing neat and clean. 

The cleanliness of the ship itself is a matter con- 
sidered equally as important as that of the crew. 
The boatswain's mates pipe " Wash down the 
decks," and the work begins. Buckets of water, 
hickory brooms, sand and holy-stones, squillgees 
and swabs — all are brought into use to drive every 
particle of dirt from the oak planks of the decks, 
which soon shine with a whiteness that any house- 
wife would envy. Then the ship must be cleaned 
outside, and the copper sheathing scrubbed and 

The great event of the forenoon is " quarters." 
All the crews assemble at their guns for muster, 
inspection, and drill. Four guns' crews, of seven- 
teen boys each, make up a division, which is in 
charge of an officer. The drills are varied and 
interesting, and pertain more particularly to that 
part of the training which makes " fighting men." 
The boys are exercised in loading, pointing, and 
firing the heavy cannon which constitute the ship's 
battery. The target is towed out to the proper 
distance from the ship. There is about this gun- 
practice much "make-believe" — as the phrase 
goes — at first, but when the boys are thoroughly 


oiled until it looks like a band of reddish gold above 
the water-line. The ship having received her share 
of attention, the boys are given a half-hour in 
which to prepare for "early inspection," at which 
the master-at-arms and a number of subordinates 
make a critical observation of the toilets. 

Then comes breakfast, and, after that, more 
cleaning. There are no intervals of idleness. 
This time it is the guns that need care ; their 
brass-work must be made to shine like a mirror in 
the sun. While this is going on, a bugle sounds 
sick-call, and all those who are too ill for the day's 
work flock down to the dispensary, where the eld 
surgeon and his young assistant are busy feeling 
pulses, peering down throats, and prescribing gen- 
erously for each patient. 

posted in their duties, real powder and shell are 
brought in. The deafening reports are at first a 
sore trial to delicate nerves, but our young friends 
are soon able to stand unmoved while an eight- 
inch Dahlgren gun belches forth flame and smoke. 

Broadsword and cutlass drills, under the super- 
vision of an expert swordsman, and pistol, howitzer, 
and infantry drills form a part of the routine, which 
goes toward strengthening the youthful arm that 
may some day be raised in defense of our countrv's 

After quarters, exercises and studies, with an in- 
terval of one hour at noon for dinner, fill up the 
time until four o'clock. Evening quarters, for mus- 
ter only, are at half-past four, and supper is at five. 
Hammocks are piped down early in the evening, 




and every one must be turned in at nine o'clock, 
when silence fore and aft is the order of the night. 

The school of instruction for the apprentices is 
divided into three departments, viz. : Seamanship 
Department, Gunnery Department, and Depart- 
ment of Studies. Each department is in charge 
of an officer, with several assistants. In seaman- 
ship, the boy is first taught the names of all the 
spars, ropes, and sails. He is then sent on the 
"monkey yard," which is slung a few feet above 
the deck, and there taught how to handle a small 
sail. Encouraged to take a run up the rigging 
every morning, the boy soon forgets his fear of 
falling, and is then allowed to take part in the 
regular exercises aloft — such as loosing, furling, 
reefing, bending, and unbending sails, sending up 
or down light yards and top-gallant masts, etc. 
Cutting and fitting rigging, knotting and splicing 
rope, sail-making, boxing the compass, heaving 
the lead and log signals, pulling oars, swimming, 
and the use of the diving apparatus come under 
this head. The course of instruction in gunnery- 
includes the theory of gunnery, in addition to the 
practice mentioned in a preceding paragraph as 
divisional drills. The Department of Studies 
embraces the rudiments of an ordinary English 
education — reading, writing, spelling, arithmetic, 
grammar, geography, history, moral and religious 
instruction, and singing. 

This, then, is the every-day work of the ap- 
prentices, but it is not all work and no play. On 
Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday afternoons, 
those whose conduct record may warrant are given 
liberty to visit the quaint old town of Newport. 
For those who do not care for this, the island close 
at hand is a rare place for base-ball, foot-ball, and 
other field sports. Boating is always in order — the 
ship's boats for rowing, and the little brig Toy or 
the schooner-yacht Wave for sailing. These last 
two. manned by the boys themselves, make pleas- 
ant cruises in Narragansett Bay, and often visit, 
the surrounding towns. And it is a pretty sight 
on some breezy day to see the boys walk out on 
the long boom and drop into the cutter that bobs 
and dances alongside. In the pleasant summer 
evenings the band plays for " stag " dancing on 
board ship, and a singing-master leads the chor- 
uses, which make the air resound with " Nancy 
Lee," " Life on the Ocean Wave," and other songs 
of the sea. A library and reading-room are open 
during recreation hours. On Sunday mornings 
church service is conducted by the Chaplain on 
the gun-deck, when all are required to be present. 

For the bad or unruly boy. or the one who lazily 
or willfully shirks his duty, there is first justice and 
then punishment. Such a boy is duly reported to 
the officer of the deck and the culprit is speedily 

summoned to answer to the charges against him 
before a court composed of the captain, the 
executive officer and the chaplain. It is like a 
regular police court, too. in which if the boy can 
plead a good excuse or can prove by witnesses 
that no blame attaches to him he may do so. Every- 
thing is done according to exact justice, and pun- 
ishment is only given when proven to be merited. 

After a year on the ship, those boys who have 
advanced far enough in their profession to be con- 
sidered available for sea are generally transferred 
to some of the cruising ships of the training squad- 
ron, when the fleet rendezvous at Newport in the 
early spring, preparatory to the summer cruise. 

The transfer day is a gala day. The fortunate 
boys are bustling around getting their bags and 
hammocks ready and saying their good-byes. 
" Commodore Duff" always provides a grand fare- 
well dinner on this occasion, to which every depart- 
ing apprentice will look back with pleasure when 
fresh provisions give out at sea, and " salt horse " 
(salt beef), " soup and bully" (canned beef), and 
" hard-tack " have important places in the bill of 
fare. The draft turns out in blue mustering-clothes. 
and, amid a volley of cheers and swinging of caps, 
boards the tug, which has been waiting alongside, 
and are soon distributed among their new homes. 

Once upon the high seas, much of the romance 
of the sailor's life fades quickly away. It may be 
pleasant to stroll along the cliffs and to watch the 
great waves break in a line of white foam and a 
shower of spray, but once afloat in a wave-tossed 
ship, many a young sailor has felt contemplation 
give way to an indescribable feeling of misery and 
woe. There are few people who are proof against 
sea-sickness, and the land-lubber who can endure 
the rolling and pitching without a qualm is a h ro 
indeed. But the lad who "tackles it" manfully, 
with a dogged determination to crush out the first 
symptoms of weakness, generally conquers, and is 
soon able to laugh with the rest. One or two days 
is the average time allowed for getting one's "sea 

The coast-line soon fades away in a purple haze 
as the small fleet bowls along before the wind out 
into the broad Atlantic. The change is exhila- 
rating. To many it is a new world — the blue 
above and the blue below. The weather is fair 
to-day, but to-morrow the clouds may bank up 
around the horizon in dark, foreboding masses, the 
gentle breeze may increase to a howling gale, and 
the speeding ship be stripped of her lofty canvas 
until she is left wallowing in a heavy sea and drift- 
ing bodily to leeward. It is then that the stout 
heart and the steady hand of the sailor boy stand 
him in good stead. There are to'-gallant sails and 
rovals to be furled, the lofty yards of which swav 


68 5 

from side to side with the motion of the ship, mak- 
ing the dizzy height all the more perilous, and the 
youngsters must reef top-sails, working with their 
hands, and acquiring the knack of " hanging on " 
without the help of those useful members. 

Day and night the watch is set, to pass four 
hours on deck ready to answer every call, whether 
it be to man the "jib down-haul " or " spanker 
brails"; then four hours below, with nothing to 
do. The " dogwatches " of two hours each (from 
4 to 6 i'. M. and from 6 to S p. M.) break the con- 
tinuity, and enable the watches to alternate, and 
thus secure eight hours below every other night. 

Thus a year — several months of it spent in sea- 
voyaging — slips quickly by, and the young tar 
has advanced steadily in his calling. His fund of 

general knowledge has been increased by visiting 
foreign countries. At no time has the training 
in the three departments of Seamanship, Gunnery, 
and Studies been lost sight of, although self-reliance 
has taken the place of that dependence upon others 
which is necessarily so common at first. 

Upon attaining his majority, the apprentice is 
in every way fitted for general service as a man-of- 
war's-man, and may serve — according to his choice 
— in any squadron that stands in need of men. 
Whether he chooses the much-sought-for Euro- 
pean squadron, or visits the celestials in China, 
or wanders in the Pacific or South Atlantic, let us 
hope that he will at all times prove himself worthy 
of his alma mater, and help to regenerate that fast- 
disappearing class — the American seaman. 

By Rev. Henry Augustus Adams. 

Here are two letters that were written by two 
boys who became great and good men. Now, 
while we are about to commemorate the anniver- 
sary of our Nation's birth, it is pleasant to look back 
to the days when those two great patriots were 
only boys like the rest of us. 

The first letter is from Richard Henry Lee, who 
spoke so boldly and acted so bravely for our coun- 
try in the time of her great peril and need : 

'• Pa brought me two pretty books full of pic- 
tures he got them in Alexandria they have pictures 
of dogs and cats and tigers and elefants and ever 
so many pretty things cousin bids me send you one 
of them it has a picture of an elefant and a little 
idian boy on his back like uncle * jo's sam pa 
says if I learn my tasks good he will let uncle jo 
bring me to see you will you ask your ma to let 
you come to see me. 

" Richard Henry Lee." 

To this letter Washington sent the following 
reply : 

"Dear Dickey I thank you very much for the 
pretty picture book you gave me. Sam asked me 
to show him the pictures and I showed him all 
the pictures in it ; and I read to him how the tame 
elephant took care of the master's little boy, and 
put him on his back and would not let anybody 
touch his master's little son. 1 can read three or 
four pages sometimes without missing a word. 

Ma says I may go to see you and stay all day with 
you next week if it be not rainy. She says 1 may- 
ride my pony Hero if Uncle Ben will go with me 
and lead Hero. I have a little piece of poetry 
about the picture book you gave me, but I must n't 
tell you who wrote the poetry. 

" ' G. W's. compliments to R. H. L. 
And likes his book full well, 
Henceforth will count him his friend. 
And hopes many happy days he may end.' 
"• Your good friend, 

" George Washington. 

" I am going to get a whip top soon, and you 
may see it and whip it." 

In less than half a century after writing this child- 
letter, this same George Washington stood before 
a vast assemblage of people, and, with his hand 
upon the Bible, took the oath as the first President 
of the LTnited States. 

" Long live George Washington, President of 
the United States," shouted one who stood near, 
and the people caught up and repeated the shout. 
But the first person to clasp Washington's hand 
was his life-long friend. Richard Henry Lee. 

After all, boys are boys. If these two great men 
were once boys like us. why may not we some day 
become great men like them ? To be great, one 
need not be famous. 

Faithful old family slaves were called Uncle 




By The Countess Evelyn Martinengo Cesaresco. 

Itha lived with her father in a small German 
village. He was a very learned man, but very 
poor, and so he walked into the town, two leagues 
distant, every morning to give lessons to the young 
people of rich families; and in the evening he 
walked back to the village and took little Itha on 
his knee, and made her tell him what she had done 
with herself all the long day. And when they 
had eaten their supper, he would sometimes say : 

" Now you shall hear a story about what hap- 
pened when the world was young." 

Many were the beautiful wonder-tales that he 
knew, but the one Itha liked best was the history 
of a fair and gentle lady who was borne away to 
the sunless kingdom of the dead ; and so great was 
the grief of her husband that he went to seek her 
in that shadowy land, and by his sweet singing 
compelled her captors to yield her back to him. 
Itha was never tired of hearing this story. 

At other times, the poor scholar would take 
down his favorite book and read aloud, in a rich, 
full voice, something that sounded like a great 
river rolling along. Itha would sit upon his knee 
all the while that he was reading, and one day 
she said to him : 

" Let me read, too, in that book." 

So he taught his little daughter how to read in 
the book, though it was written in Greek ; for it 
was the book of a wonderful Greek poet who 
lived thousands of years ago, when the world was 
young. And it was the only book that Itha ever 
read, for her father had forgotten to teach her how- 
to read German, which was her own language. 

One December evening, — it was the eve of St. 
Nicholas's day, — as the poor scholar was trudging 
back from the town, he remembered that he 
had not been able to do anything with his little 
pupils all that day, because they were all whis- 
pering to each other guesses as to what St. Nicho- 
las would put in their shoes next morning ; for 
every German child, when he gets up from his bed 
on the sixth of December, expects to find a nice 
present in his shoes, and the nurse tells him St. 
Nicholas put it there. One of the scholar's pupils 
wished for a pair of skates ; another hoped it 
would be a brand-new doll ; a third wanted a box 
of sugar-plums, and the poor scholar thought: 

" My little Itha will have no gift from St. Nicho- 
las to-morrow morning." 

And he sighed sadly. When he had gone a 
little farther, he met a peddler. 

"Ah! surely," he cried, quite joyfully, "you 
must have something in your bag which will do to 
put in my little child's shoe." 

" I have not such a thing with me," said the 
peddler; "I am sold out, excepting a few bone- 
handled knives and some tin-ware." He passed 
on, but in a minute he ran back and said: " I for- 
got a bit of a thing I picked up at a sale in an 
old country house a week ago — it might do for 
you, perhaps, but I can not tell." 

He pulled out from the bottom of his sack — a 
little violin ! 

"What is your price?" cried the poor scholar, 
trembling with eagerness to secure the prize. 

"Three florins," said the peddler. 

He had just that in his pocket, and he brought 
it out, not thinking for a moment of how he had in- 
tended to buy himself a new hat with the money, 
because his pupil, little Master von Rebel, had 
secretly sat upon his old one and crushed in the 
crown, "just for fun !" 

As for the peddler, he went on his way rejoicing, 
for he had bought the violin for one florin, so he 
had made a clear gain of two. He was not accus- 
tomed to deal in such things, and he did not in the 
least suspect that the little violin was worth much 
more than even the sum he sold it for ; still, this 
was really the fact. Inside of it, almost marked 
out by age and dust, stood the name of Joseph 
Guarnerius, of Cremona, a great and famous 

Joseph Guarnerius was a strange man, and 
perhaps he made this particular little violin by 
way of a joke, for it was very small, and what 
is called the tail-piece had a carved head on it, 
the likeness of a curious, good-natured-looking 
little monster, something like the gargoyle heads 
you see in old churches. Or it may be that it was 
intended as a keepsake for his jailer's daughter, 
who was very kind when he was once in prison, 
and brought him the needful materials so that he 
might not have to leave off making violins. When 
the dust was rubbed off the case, it showed a 
bright amber color, which pleased the poor scholar 
as he sat that night rubbing it up to make it 
look as nice as possible ; but he did not know its 
value any more than the peddler, and therefore he 
was not aware that it was one of the great secrets 
of the old makers how to give the instruments this 
glowing, yellow tint. When he had done polishing 
it, as it was too big to go into the shoe, he put the 



shoe on the head of the little carved monster, and 
placed it silently by Itha's bed. 

As soon as Itha woke in the morning, she saw 
the little violin, and she was very, very happy ; she 
kissed it and kissed it, and could not kiss it enough. 
She wondered how it ever came to be in her shoe, 
but her father said, with a smile, " St. Nicholas put 
it there ! " When she touched the strings, and when 
they went " twing, twing," she jumped for joy, she 
was so glad. After that, she drew the bow across 
the strings, and it made a sweet, long sound, and 
she could have cried with, pleasure. You see, little 
Itha was not in the habit of having many pretty 
things given her, and so she thought all the more 
of this one. She asked her father what it should 
be called, for she wished to give it a name, and he 
told her to call it Psyche. 

After that St. Nicholas day, whenever her father 
was away in the town, little Itha played on her 
violin. At first she only made different kinds of 
sounds, but she soon found out how to play the lit- 
tle tunes with which her mother had been used to 
sing her to sleep ; and then she would make up 
tunes of her own to play, and discover all sorts 
of new ways in which to play the old ones. She 
would say softly, as she nursed her little violin 
in her lap, " There are three in the house now: 
Father, Itha, and Psyche ! " She used to take 
Psyche to bed with her when it was cold weather. 

But when the new year was half gone by, a 
great misfortune happened — the poor scholar lost 
his eyesight. Now he could no longer go into the 
town to earn money by teaching rich children, and 
every day there was less bread in the house. Little 
Itha was very happy that she could read to her 
father out of his dearly loved book ; she sat on his 
knee, as in old times, and he held the book in his 
hands whilst she read. Every day she made him 
tell her how Homer, the great poet who wrote the 
book, was also blind and poor when he grew old, 
for the story seemed to be a comfort to him. 

One day there was no food, and no money to get 
it with. The poor scholar said to himself, " If it 
was only 1, I could starve; but the child must 
eat." He went to the shelf where his dear book 
lay, and he took it down and dusted it with his 
sleeve, and for a few moments he held it in his 
hands. Then he felt his way to the door, and 
walked out, with his stick, to a neighbor's house. 
For a minute he stood still ; a thought struck 
him : " The violin would do as well — but no ! It 
would break Itha's heart to part with it." He 
called to the neighbor : 

" Neighbor, your son Hans is going to the town ; 
will you let him sell this book and buy bread ? " 

In the afternoon, Hans came back with a loaf, 
and said " it was all right." 

When they had done their supper, Itha went to 
the shelf, as usual. 

" Father I " she cried out, " I cannot see 

'" He is sold to buy bread, my child," said the 
poor scholar. 

Itha sat down on his knee, and all that evening 
they both cried. Next day two men came to the 
house, and the poor scholar gently bade Itha go 
out of the room while he spoke with them ; but 
through the door she heard sounds of harsh voices 
and hard words, and when they had talked for 
some time, Itha's father came out to her and 
said : 

" My child, you know we are very poor, and 
since my trouble I have not been able to pay my 
rent. I owe these gentlemen forty florins, and 
they are going to put me in prison till I can pay 
it. Good-bye, my little Itha." 

Meanwhile, the two men looked around the 

" These things wont fetch twenty pence, all put 
together," said one. 

" What 's this? A fiddle, I declare ! That may 
be sold for a trifle, perhaps," said the other, 
roughly handling Psyche. 

"Well, we can see about that, when we come 
back presently," rejoined the first speaker. " Lit- 
tle girl," he continued, with just the air of one who 
thinks he is doing a great favor, " we shall try and 
get you into the town orphan-house." 

" I am not an orphan, and I will go with my 
father!" cried Itha, sobbing, and clinging to her 
father's neck. 

" You 're little better off than an orphan," mut- 
tered one of the men, and they forthwith led the 
poor scholar away and slammed the door on his 
little daughter. Itha wept bitterly when they were 
gone ; but of a sudden she got up and took hold 
of her little violin, and said : 

" Psyche, you and I must save father ; " and she 
ran off as fast as she could. She did not go toward 
the town, for she knew the cruel men lived there, 
but right the other way, across the fields of barley 
and rye. That night she slept under a hedge, but 
the next day she came to a village, and she played 
her violin all along the village street. The people 
were pleased to hear the music, and threw out 
pence, and one gave her a piece of bread with 
some sausage. A good man let her sleep in some 
straw under his shed, and when morning came, 
she made her way to another village. Thus she 
went on, and on, from day to day, and she kept 
all the money she earned tied up in her pocket- 
handkerchief, till it got to be quite heavy with 
pence and small coins. Still, there were not nearly 
forty florins, and the life was a very hard one ; but 




Itha said, over and over again, " Psyche and I will 
save poor father," and that made her able to bear it 
all. When the winter began, it was terrible to have 
to wander about like this : yet, little Itha's heart 
was light, for her handkerchief grew weightier every 
day, and all the florins were there, save one ! But 
her strength was almost gone, and as her shoes 

chestnuts, had disappeared; there was nothing 
left of the ginger-bread man but his gilded toes ; 
now came the supreme moment, when the Marzipan 
was put on the table. The musician stood up and 
said to his children : 

" Once upon a time, in the month of March, 
there was a great siege, and nothing was left in the 




were worn out, she had to walk with bare feet. It 
was in this plight she reached the very old town 
of Nuremburg one cold December daw 

town but sugar. So the people boiled down all 
the sugar together, and ate it instead of bread. 
And the children thought it so good, that ever 
since, at Christmas, they have eaten the March- 
They were keeping Christmas in the great bread, such as you have before you to-day." 
musician's house. The roast goose, stuffed with The children screamed with delight when the 

i8S 5 .] 



Marzipan was uncovered ; it was big and round, 
and there were splendid figures on it in colored 

Just then the musician's ear caught a little sound 
coming up from the square, and when he went to 
the window he saw a poor little ragged child play- 
ing the violin; and all along where she had trod- 
den, there were stains of blood on the snow ; for 
her naked feet were cut and frost-bitten. 

" Keep quiet for a minute, children," said the 
musician to the merry band at the dinner-table. 
He listened and listened till the music stopped ; 
then his face lit up brightly, as though with deep 

joy, and he exclaimed : 
become a great artist ! " 

Here is one who will 

So Itha's pilgrimage ended. The musician took 
her into his house and gave her good food and 
warm clothing. They started off together to free 
the poor scholar ; and what was more, the musi- 
cian did not rest until he had found the old copy 
of Homer and bought it back for him. Then 
Itha and her father went to Nuremberg, and Itha 
studied for some years and grew perfect in her art, 
and in time her name came to be known over all 
the world for her beautiful playing on the violin. 


By William M. Baker. 

Chapter III. 


As Prince Braunfels had intimated, he had de- 
termined to " go back to civilization," — that is, to 
Germany. His own subjects had become Ameri- 
canized, and no longer treated their Prince with 
the respect his rank demanded. 

" Dey sits down in mine bresence, Madame," he 
complained to Mrs. Frierson, " tint mit dere hats 
on dere hets. Dey stops at mine gate unt shouts 
to me : ' I say, Brince, pring me ein tasscn vasser/" 
Houf ! I dell you I must leaf dis hor-rid countree ! " 

In leaving, however, he needed to make satisfac- 
tory disposition of a valuable, full-blooded Merino 
ram that he had imported from Spain at a heavy 
expense, together with several Merino ewes. The 
Prince was enthusiastic on the subject of sheep- 

"But ach .' Mein beoples ! " he exclaimed: 
"' dey are such foolish ones, dey would eat dese 
grand, dese noble sheep for mutton. Stupids ! 

The Prince had formed a high opinion of the ex- 

Vol. XII. — 44. 

cellent sense of Ruthven ; and the proposition which 
he made was that the Friersons should take his 
small but extremely valuable flock of Merinos in 
charge, paying him a fixed percentage upon the 
yearly returns and increase. 

Ruthven and his mother hesitated at first. They 
had had some experience with the Mexican sheep 
of that region, but to undertake the care and rais- 
ing of valuable, full-blooded stock was a very dif- 
ferent matter. 

" We have no inclosed pasturage large enough," 
objected Ruthven. "We are too near the public 
roads and the towns. Dogs will kill the sheep, or 
Mexicans will steal them. I know nothing about 
the diseases of sheep, nor about their housing 
and food. One week may sweep oft" every one of 
them ; and these Merinos are delicate as well as 
valuable creatures." 

" You forget what the Prince told us of old Jock. 
his Scotch shepherd. Ruthven." said Mrs. Frier- 
son. " The old man brought these sheep across 
the Atlantic, you know, and has had charge of 
them ever since. He thoroughly understands 
sheep and has regular shepherd dogs." 




"But, Mother, the Prince says that Jock has 
refused to stay in Texas," Ruthven replied. " The 
old Scotchman is as disgusted with the climate as 
the Prince is with the people. And more than all, 
Manchac Springs is no place for sheep. The 
Prince himself acknowledges that." 

But while their minds were occupied with the 
proposition of Prince Braunfels and the question of 
what was the best course to be pursued, a train of 
emigrants from the North rested one day near the 
house, and refreshed themselves with the water of 


Manchac Springs. Manchac, indeed, was famous 
throughout that section as a favorite resting-place 
with the scouts and guides who piloted the numer- 
ous emigrant trains over the Texas plains. 

This special train consisted of three ambulances, 
six great road-wagons, several cows, and a score 
or so of negroes. Upon a mattress in the largest 
ambulance lay a sweet-faced woman in the earlier 
stages of consumption. She proved to be Mrs. 
Edwards, a widow of considerable wealth, accom- 
panied by her son, Harry, and her two daughters, 
Barbara and Madge, all young people of about the 
ages of Mrs. Frierson's children. 

''We have come to Texas," Harry told Mrs. 
Frierson, as he met her under the live-oaks before 
the house, " in the hope that the climate may 
benefit my mother. She is in raptures over your 
magnificent spring and the charming situation of 
your house. In fact," he added, " she is tired 
out, and is really crying like a child at the idea of 
leaving this bit of paradise for the hot, dusty road." 

Mrs. Frierson's heart went out to this tired in- 
valid searching for health. She walked down to 
see her, with kind words and kindly offices. The 

Edwards train remained a week in camp near the 
springs ; a mutual liking soon developed into a 
strong friendship between the two families, and 
finally the proposition came from Mrs. Edwards 
that Mrs. Frierson should lease Manchac Springs 
to her for three years. 

" But where shall we go?" asked Mrs. Frier 
son, in some perplexity. 

"You forget Prince Braunfels' Merinos, Mother," 
said Waldo. 

" If we only had a suitable tract of land, we 
could accept both Prince Braunfels' proposition 
and that of Mrs. Edwards," said Ruthven, deep 
in thought. "We can not go far enough away 
from civilization to preempt land. Mrs. Edwards 
is willing to advance money if we will lease the 
place to her, but even that " 

"Well— I '11 be shot! " 

This singular and most unlooked-for exclama- 
tion came from Uncle Cyrus. 

Every one looked at him in amazement. 

" Whatever is the matter, Uncle Cyrus ? " asked 

" Why, this is the matter," he replied, " and I 
can't imagine why I did n't think of it before. I 
bought a land patent of old Jack Lubbock a dozen 
years ago to help him out of a tight scrape. I got 
it for a mere song — fifty dollars, I think, — and 
I 've kept it clear of taxes ever since. It 's a per- 
fectly magnificent tract of land in the Lampasas 
region. Let us all go there. It 's the very place 
for sheep ; plenty of mesquit grass and running 
water — just the thing, Bessie; just the thing!" 

And Uncle Cyrus's plan luas "just the thing." 
It completed the chain of circumstances that was 
to lift the Friersons out of their debt and distress. 
Ruthven was full of plans and arrangements; 
Waldo was now the best of friends with L'ncle 
Cyrus ; and as for that gentleman, a cloud seemed 
to have rolled from his face. 

" He never was cheerier in the old days," 
Waldo said to Bessie. "He insists on deeding 
the land to Mother, and begins to feel that he may 
yet undo the harm that he has done. It 's a great 
plan, Bessie, but I know it is n't the plan he 's 
been hinting at so long. I believe I have an 
idea of what that is, and if it 's true — why, Bess, 
it '11 be perfectly glorious for us all ! " 

So the great change came about, and it seemed, 
as Mrs. Frierson said, " as if all things worked to- 
gether for good." Turning over Ruthven's care- 
fully kept note-book, one sees that Uncle Cyrus 
made his unexpected appearance in the Frierson 
household on January 7 ; the Prince's proposition 
came on March 15 ; the Edwards family camped 
by Manchac Springs on March 20; on the 25th of 
March Uncle Cyrus so suddenly begged to be shot ; 





and the 30th of March saw Waldo and Uncle 
Cyrus on their way to prepare a place for the 
family as well as they could in the Lampasas, a 
hundred miles away, taking with them three Mex- 
ican laborers and an abundance of tools and 
weapons. Ruthven was to follow a month later 
with old Jock McGilveray, the Scotch shepherd 
of Prince Braunfels, driving the costly old Merino 
ram, Don Quixote, and the ewes. 

It was toward the last of April that Ruthven 
and old Jock were 
approaching the 
creek which is known 
as the Lampasas, and 
which gives the name 
to the whole region 
around about. Jock, 
who had never been 
known to ride, was 
trudging sturdily 
along, driving the 
flock before him, 
while a little behind, 
rode Ruthven in an 
old ambulance con- 
taining the baggage 
and camp outfit. 
Suddenly the Lam- 
pasas, here some 
twenty yards wide, 
appeared before 

them, flowing silent- 
ly along. Jock stared 
as he saw the bed of 
the creek, shining as 
if coated with silver ; 
even the flock drew 
back in affright at 
the strange sight. 
Don Quixote how- 
ever was thirsty, and in a moment stooped to drink, 
but only to draw back with a sudden spluttering and 
choking. It was the same with Ruthven's horses. 

" Hech, mon ' It is just like this most meeser- 
able Texas," said Jock, indignantly; "and is it to 
pizen the sheep we have come hither? " 

" It 's only the sulphur, Jock," Ruthven ex- 
plained. For he knew that the whole Lampasas 
region was full of medicinal springs, in which 
were all sorts of queer-tasting waters, sulphur 
being the strongest of all. 

Several days passed before old Jock, his flock, 
or the horses could reconcile themselves to these 
waters. In less than a month, however, they all be- 
gan to endure the horrid taste ; in two months they 
drank the water with eagerness. Some day this 
Lampasas country will be as famous as Saratoga. 

May was a busy month, both at the sheep 
ranch on the Lampasas and at the house at Man- 
chac Springs. And on June 3, the whole family 
arrived at the new home, with their horses, cows, 
and a score or so of Mexican sheep. Only the 
most necessary housekeeping articles had been 
taken along, most of the household goods having 
been leased to the Edwards family. 

The newness of everything, the change of air 
and scene, the perpetual pressure of "getting 

^*iiifiL ; 


settled " did them all good, and the young people 
had never been happier than during the weeks 
when they worked like Trojans, out in the pure 
air from dawn to dark. 

••I never knew that food could taste so well," 
Hessie often declared; "and as to sleep — why, it 
is perfectly delicious to sleep as I do ! " 

It is hard to explain just what forms the singu- 
lar charm of the Lampasas region — whether the 
rolling hills, deep with the sweetest of grass ; the 
peculiar dark green of the groups of live-oaks, or 
the transparent purity of the air and the sky. 
The distant hills hang in the horizon like folds of 
emerald fleece, and there is a sort of velvety smooth- 
ness in the vast landscape, changing through all 
shades of verdure as the shadows of the clouds 
chase one another over the prairies. 




The Fourth of July was celebrated with especial 
vigor by all, for it seemed a double holiday to this 
happy family, freed from the tyranny of debt and 

"We arc independent of the world!" cried 
Waldo, as he fired a great salute. 

And he was right. For much had been accom- 
plished. Upon the noble hill, in the center of its 
diadem of oaks, a four-room cedar cabin had been 
erected, a twelve-foot hall running through the 
center, and smaller shed-rooms in the rear, — the 
whole sweet with the fragrance of cypress clap- 

He was over sixty — over seventy for all anybody 
knew — and as gray and craggy as one of his 
Scotch hills. Not Damon and Pythias were more 
inseparable than were Jock and Don Quixote, the 
big Merino ram whose horns swept back from his 
black nose, giving his kingly head the aspect of 
Gibraltar. By day-break the ram, the ewes, and 
their keeper were upon the sunny slopes ; before 
dark, for fear of wolves, the same companions were 
together in the sheep-fold of wattled stakes, Jock 
sleeping in a long shed opening into the fold, his 
two shepherd collies. Laddie and Scotty, at his 


boards and cedar walls and floors. Near the cabin 
were a long stable, store-rooms for supplies and 
for the future fleece, and a kitchen-garden, planted 
with potatoes, onions, cabbage, and other needed 
vegetables. The Mexican laborers had a camp of 
their own, and Uncle Cyrus, slipping off before 
day with Waldo, would rarely return to a late 
breakfast without an abundance of large or small 

" The only thing that keeps me uneasy, Jock," 
Mrs. Frierson often said to the old Scotchman, 
" is that you have to leave us so soon." 
" Were ye iver in Scotland, mem ?" 
That was about the only reply Jock would 
ever make. 

feet. The old man was almost as silent as his 
charges, and seemed to live but for two things : 
first, to get back to Scotland at the earliest possible 
moment ; second, to secure Don Quixote, his ewes 
and lambs free from harm until he must leave them. 

"He 'd know," said Waldo. " if a mouse ran 
through the fold. And when it is too dark to see 
the sheep, he goes among them to make sure by 
actual handling that they are all there." 

" Jock and Don Quixote have never been sepa- 
rated since the old man went to Spain with Prince 
Braunfels to select the sheep," Ruthven explained, 
"and Jock believes that what the patriarch Abra- 
ham was to the children of Israel, Don Quixote is 
to be to all American sheep." 



" I do love to see the old man," said Bessie, 
" out on the prairie, half lying on the grass, the 
sheep feeding around him, the dogs by his side. 
Every now and then he glances up from under 
his heavy eyebrows, says a word to Laddie and 
Scotty, and off they dash, rounding the sheep to- 
ward a fresh pasturage, Jock following on behind. 
If we can only make him like us, perhaps he will 
give up his dream of Scotland and be content to 
stay with us." 

Just then, with the noise of shouting and sing- 
ing, with loud laughter and hallooing, there dashed 
helter-skelter past the ranch a band of two or 
three hundred men, some in a sort of half uniform, 
some in red mining-shirts and all dusty, dirty, 
sunburned, and slouch-hatted. Mrs. Frierson 
would have been terrified had not the men lifted 
their hats to her as they rode by. 

" They are Texas rangers ! " cried Waldo ex- 
citedly. " They 've been out fighting Apaches." 

Then he disappeared and an hour after returned 
from a long talk with some of the rangers. 

" I was right," he said. " They have been out 
fighting the Apaches. How I wish I could have 
gone with them ! One of them gave me this hand- 
ful of Indian arrows. They told me " 

It is unnecessary to repeat here what Waldo had 
been told. But the coming of this band of Texas 
rangers was to again change matters wonderfully 
in the Frierson household. 

Chapter IV. 


On the Wednesday following the October Mon- 
day on which the rangers rode by, Waldo and his 
uncle were hunting along the trail upon which the 
rangers had come, some twelve miles north-west of 
the ranch on the Lampasas. Suddenly Waldo's 
quick eye, now trained to all signs of game, de- 
tected a bear on the prairie. The recognition was 
mutual. The bear made for a bayou thickly 
fringed with cotton-wood and pecan trees, Waldo 
hard after him. Reaching the deep ravine, the two 
hunters separated, Uncle Cyrus standing with gun 
in readiness, Waldo beating the underbrush below, 
with many a yell and shout. Soon Uncle Cyrus's 
gun rang out once, twice, and Waldo found the 
dying bear lying at the bottom of the ravine in a 
foot or two of muddy water. 

" Stake the horses, Waldo, and fetch along the 
spare rope," said Uncle Cyrus. "We '11 have to 
noose this old chap around the neck and drag him 
up the bank." 

Waldo did as directed, and was returning with 
the rope, through the underbrush, when suddenly 

he gave a yell and a leap in the air that brought 
his uncle to him, post-haste. 

" What 's the trouble?" he asked. 

" There — look there ! " Waldo replied, in open- 
eyed astonishment pointing to the ground at his 

Uncle Cyrus, too, stared in surprise ; for there, 
just before them, stretched out by the water, lay an 
Indian, apparently dead. He was terribly emaci- 
ated, hideous with war-paint, his eyes closed, and 
his hands drawn together on his breast. What 
seemed especially strange was the absence of any 
weapon upon or near the body. 

" Take care, Waldo ! " cried Uncle Cyrus in 
warning. "An Apache is a dangerous customer ! " 

But Waldo was already bending over the Indian ; 
and as he studied his face, he thought he detected 
a slight twitching in the left eyelid. Kneeling be- 
side the poor fellow, the lad lifted the long and 
bony arm and disclosed a bullet-hole in the left side. 
Placing his ear close to the heart he listened a 
moment, and then crying out, " Oh, Uncle ! he 's 
alive ! " Waldo ran to where the horses were staked 
and returned with a flask of whisky, always carried 
on these hunting expeditions for fear of snake-bites. 
After working over the Indian some time, Waldo 
and his uncle were rewarded by seeing the eyes 
slowly open. Then Waldo started back in terror, 
as, with a look of hatred and ferocity, the wounded 
man made a desperate struggle to rise, and fell 
back motionless. 

" He 's one of the rangers' wounded prisoners," 
Uncle Cyrus explained, "and a chief, doubtless, 
or they would not have tried to bring him in. 
He ' played dead,' and then crawled off here from 
their camp." 

And so it proved. For, as they learned after- 
ward, this was none other than Hungry Wolf, a 
fierce Apache chief. 

Somehow, between them, Waldo and Uncle 
Cyrus managed to bring this sorely-wounded savage 
to the ranch. And here a strange thing occurred. 
Old Jock took a deep interest in the wounded 
Apache, sharing his cabin with him, keeping him 
clean, dressing his wound, and cooking mutton 
broth for him. 

Though he had been shot through the lungs, there 
was just a bare chanceof the Indian's recovery ; but 
for a long time it was an impossibility for him to 
move, much less to escape. 

For weeks Hungry Wolf was almost literally a 
wolf — silent, sullen, enduring his agony without 
a groan, glancing at every one with eyes wherein 
venomous hatred slowly gave place to astonish- 
ment, and this, still more slowly, to gentleness. 

"We must remember." Mrs. Frierson said, 
'• that this man is not a savage merelv. Manv 

6 9 4 



generations of savagery are in his blood. Such 
things as pity, forgiveness, gratitude, love, or even 
kindness to any one, least of all to an enemy, — 
why really, my dears, a wolf is not more ignorant 
of such things than is he. And yet he is a hu- 
man being, and we can only do our best for him." 
So it became a regular thing for Hessie and 
Bessie to carry him appetizing food, and for Ruth- 
ven and Waldo to try to encourage him by gestures 

and gifts of 
to old Jock, 
know," Bes- 
day, " that 

and smiles, 
tobacco. But 
seemed to take 

" Did you 
sie said one 
Jock reads to 
for hours, espe- 
cially on Sun- 
day, and from 
the Bible. Of 
know that the 
Indian can't 
understand a 
word. Per- 
haps he 
thinks the 
very sound 
may do him 

it did. 

The poor 
would lis- 
ten as if 
he did understand, 
and every one could 
see that he was growing gentler. 
Gradually he and Jock came to under 
stand each other in one sense. 

It was now apparent that he could never re- 
cover, but all through the winter he could no more 
be induced to go into more comfortable quarters 
than could Jock. And one morning, just as the 
winter closed with a very severe storm, Hungry 
Wolf was found in the cabin, dead. 

It was not until he was buried and they all were 
speculating what he might have been had he grown 
well beneath their care and attention, that Uncle 
Cyrus made known a matter which had hitherto 
been a secret between old Jock and himself. 

Very slowly the Apache chief had grown grate- 
ful for the astonishing kindness shown him. He 
must have known that he had not long to live ; 
and one Sunday afternoon he suddenly arrested 
Jock's monotonous reading and began to tell, 

in the sign language they had established, of 
a place in the Sierras, unknown to the whites, 
where silver could be found. Silver, he knew, 
meant wealth for the white man ; and wealth for his 
kind friends, whom he had grown in his savage 
way to like, meant comfort and satisfaction. And 
so, before he died, he revealed the secret which, 
as Uncle Cyrus said, "was as strong as death to 
the Apaches ; for to tell it was almost the same as 
betraying their mountain fastnesses to the whites." 
It was wonderful how clearly in his sign language 
Hungry Wolf could locate the metal. Now he 
made motions as if ascending, then of descending; 
now, he seemed to be crawling on his hands and 
knees as if through the underbrush; now, as if 


going up and down canyons, the sides of which he 
could almost touch with his extended hands ; now, 
by a rapid motion of his fingers and a noise of his 
lips he intimated that water was flowing by. Old 
Jock contrived to take notes of it all, and when 
at the end of his imaginary travels Hungry Wolf 
threw up his hands and looked over his shoulder 
at the shepherd, old Jock exclaimed, " There 's 
wheer the siller is ! Yes, I see ! I see ! " 

i88 5 .; 



Then Jock told Uncle Cyrus, and after many 
weeks of gestures and signs, and a frequent use 
of names and maps and savage localities, at last a 
rough map was draughted, upon which, at a seem- 
ingly clearly indicated point, according to Hungry 
Wolfs directions, silver would be found. 

" And there, Bessie, you have my secret, my 
long cherished plan," Uncle Cyrus said to his 
sister. "You know I once spent a summer 
among those mountains, and I know that the 
country is full of gold and silver. I am of no use 
here ; Ruthven is amply able to direct and care 
for everything, and we must make money faster. 
Before you know it, the girls and boys will be too 
old to go to school, and they are worthy some- 
thing better than roughing their lives out on this 
ranch. Here is the chance for us to become 
independent and regain all you have lost. Here 
is wealth in our grasp. My plan has always been 
for Waldo and myself " 

" Never ! " Mrs. Frierson broke in, indignantly; 
"never, so far as Waldo is concerned! If you 
tempt my boy to go off there with you, I tell 
you frankly, Cyrus, I shall never forgive you ! " 

And Uncle Cyrus knew that she was in earnest. 

For a few days he seemed greatly cast down. 
He had shown the family the map made out in his 
conferences with old Jock and the Indian, and had 
been full of enthusiasm. 

" Very well," he said at last, " Waldo shall not 
go with me. But go I must. There is nothing I 
can do here. I am as certain of finding silver as I 
am sure of my own existence. Let me succeed and 
you will forgive me. But go I must ! " 

And go he did. He joined a party of prospect- 
ors bound for some of the other mining districts in 
Arizona. But Waldo remained behind, almost 
desperate. He chafed and rebelled at what he 
called the uneventful monotony of his daily life. 

" Another party of men is being made up to go," 
Ruthven told his mother. " I am afraid that Waldo 
will run away, if you do not let him join the party. 
Suppose we risk it and let him go. He will join 
Uncle Cyrus at once. There is not much danger, 
and he will never be content until he has made 
the experiment." 

Mrs. Frierson was too sensible a woman not to 
see how matters were tending. Reluctantly she 
consented, and rapid preparations were made. 
Waldo overwhelmed his mother with assurances 
of how prudent he would be. 

Almost before one could believe it, he was off, 
having joined a party of twenty men. And so 
the search for wealth began, and Hungry Wolf's 
silver mine among the mountains of Arizona was 
the secret magnet that drew both Waldo and his 
uncle Cyrus away from the comforts and home 
happiness of the ranch on the Lampasas. 
(To be continued.) 

6 9 6 



By Lieut. Frederick Schwatka 

later in 

Fifth Paper. 

i common with the children of workers 
all over the world, little Boreas must 
commence to take his share in the 
family toil as soon as he is old enough 
to learn and strong enough to do. 
Most of the sports of the boys are, 
in fact, such as will enable them to 
learn something that will be useful 
such as playing with the young dogs, 
harnessing and driving them, shooting with the bow 
and arrow, and throwing the lance at live animals. 
The girls, also, in making their dolls, learn to sew 
and to make coats and other garments of reindeer 
skin, and boots and shoes of sealskin leather. 

When the men have very nearly finished build- 
ing the igloo, the boys are expected to take the 
big, broad wooden shovel, described in my first 
article, and throw the loose snow against the sides 
of the igloo ; for between the blocks of snow will be 
many ''chinks" and crevices that would let in a 
great deal of cold air, if not stopped up. Besides 
throwing on this loose, soft snow about two feet 
deep, the boys have still another way of "chink- 
ing." Little Boreas, with the snow-knife in his 
right hand, cuts from the upper edge of the block, 
in the joint which is to be "chinked" a thin slice 
of snow, and with his left fist doubled up rams it 
into the joint between the blocks, his left fist keep- 
ing a constant punching as the knife runs slowly 
along the edge of the joint. 

Of course, during the first three or four courses 
of blocks, the boys (and sometimes the girls) can 

"chink" the joints while they are standing or 
kneeling on the ground ; but after it gets above 
and beyond the reach of their arms, they have to 
crawl on top of the house, which looks so frail that 
you are almost certain the little fellows will tumble 
through the thin snow walls of the hut. But when 
it is completed and made of good snow, three or 
four big men can go on top of it, so much stronger 
is it than it appears to be. Sometimes, however, 
the boys are surprised and disappointed ; for, when 
the snow is soft, or happens to be full of sand or 
little specks of ice, they come tumbling through 
the top of the igloo, generally on the heads of those 
who are making the bed or setting up the lamp 
inside of the house ; and then the igloo has to be 
built all over again. Fortunately, however, these 
cases are of rare occurrence. 

Sometimes, in very cold weather, the boys will 
both "chink" and "bank" the igloo (banking 
being the covering with loose snow), and then, 
with a small lamp, it is quite easy to heat up the 
little snow house to a comfortable temperature ; 
but this, you remember, must never rise to the point 
where snow melts, or the house will come tumbling 
in on their heads. After Boreas's father has cut 
enough snow blocks to go two or three times around 
the igloo, if there is no other man in the party, he 
will tell Boreas to cut the rest ; and the lad gener- 
ally manages to furnish his father with enough 
blocks to complete the house. 

After the igloo is finished, the bedding of rein- 
deer skins is taken from the sledge ; but before 
these go in-doors, the snow that has worked into 
them (especially if there has been a strong wind 

Copyright, by Frederick Schwatka, 1S85. 



during the day) must be beaten off with a snow- 
stick; and this comparatively light work generally 
falls to the children, unless there is a great hurry to 
get into shelter from some terrible wind, in which 
case all the party turn to and work with a will. 

When the house is finished, Boreas must see 
that the dogs are unharnessed and turned loose. 
The seal-skin harness, which the dogs would eat 
if in their usual hungry condition, must be put 
inside the snow house or fastened to the top of 
a tall pole, stuck upright in the snow, so that the 
dogs can not reach it. 

In the morning, when the dogs are needed for 
the day's work, the boys have to scamper around 
with two or three harnesses in their hands, catch 
and harness the dogs, hitch them to the sledge, 
and then start out after another lot. It frequently 
happens that some particular dog takes an especial 
delight in giving his catchers just as much trouble 
as he possibly can. As soon as he sees that the 
other dogs are being harnessed, he will trot away to 
the top of some high ridge, and coolly sitting down, 

ways noticed that, like spoiled children, they invari- 
ably go from bad to worse, until finally their master 
becomes so angry that he ties one of the dog's fore- 
feet to its body every night, so that he will have no 
trouble in catching the would-be runaway on the 
next morning. 

The dogs are also used in various ways in hunt- 
ing. When the weather is so foggy that Boreas's 
father can not see very far, and there is con- 
sequently but little prospect of killing anything 
unless the hunter almost stumbles upon it, the 
father will take his bow and arrows, or his gun, if 
he be fortunate enough to own one, and giving the 
best-trained hunting-dog in charge of Boreas him- 
self, they start out reindeer-hunting. Boreas puts 
a harness on the dog, ties the trace around his 
own waist, or holds it in his hands, and follows 
his father out into the fog. 

Of course, the older Eskimo has some idea of 
where the reindeer will be grazing or resting, and 
he soon finds out which way the wind is blowing 
over the place where he suspects the reindeer to 



will maliciously watch the efforts made to catch 
him. Of course, everybody now turns out, the 
dog is surrounded, and probably after he has bro- 
ken through the circle thus formed around him 
two or three times, he is finally caught and receives 
a severe trouncing from a harness-trace in the 
hands of some angry young Eskimo ; but this les- 
son seldom does the dogs much good, as I have al- 

be. Then, with Boreas and the dog, he goes around 
in such a way that the game will not be disturbed, 
to some place where the wind blowing over the 
reindeer will come toward the hunters. As soon 
as this place is reached, the dog smells the rein- 
deer, and commences sniffing the air as if anxious 
to go toward them. Boreas allows the dog to 
advance slowly, still holding on to the harness so 

6 9 S 



that it shall not run away. As soon as the dog 
scents the deer, it goes directly toward them, and 
when it is quite near, it grows excited, and com- 
mences to jump and to jerk the harness-trace by 
which Boreas is holding it ; being a well-trained 
hunting-dog, however, it never barks so as to 
frighten the deer by the sound. 

Boreas's father now knows from these excited 
actions of the dog that the reindeer must be close 
at hand, although he can not see them for the fog. 
So he tells Boreas to hold the dog and remain in 
that spot while he takes his bow or gun and crawls 
cautiously forward in the proper direction. Before 
he has gone far, probably not more than twenty or 
twenty-five yards away, the huge forms of two or 
three reindeer loom up through the fog. If he is a 
good hunter he will at least bring one down, and 
perhaps two or three of them, and so have some- 
thing for supper. When there is snow on the 
ground, the boy will generally take two or three 
dogs along, and after a reindeer is killed, will use 
them to drag it into the snow house. As Boreas 
loves excitement, this is good sport, and in this way 
he soon learns to hunt quite well. 

The ice on the ocean forms from six to ten feet 
thick, and through this deep ice the seals manage 
to scratch a hole to the top, and then form a little 
igloo in the foot or two of snow that usually covers 
the ice. In the top of this little snow dome is an 
opening as large as your two fingers ; and to this 

the dog will scent a seal-hole a hundred yards 
away, and will lead the hunter to it. As it is very 
uncertain just how long he will have to wait for the 
seals, the hunter proceeds at once to cut out two or 
three. blocks of snow to make a comfortable seat on 
which to rest and wait. As I have already said, the 
seal breathes, or "blows," as it is called, every 
fifteen or twenty minutes ; but oftentimes he is 
traveling, and each time comes up to a different 
hole to blow. It is possible, too, that he may hear 
or smell the hunter or his dog, — for seals are very 
timid animals, — in fact, there are many reasons 
why the hole may not be visited by a seal for a long 
time, and after watching for a whole day, the hunter 
may have to leave the place, unrewarded. Where 
the natives, as is often the case, have been almost 
starving, owing to the scarcity of seals and other 
game on which they live, the best and most patient 
seal-hunters have been known to sit for two or 
three days at one hole watching vigilantly for a seal's 
nose. But, however long it may be before "pussy " 
(as the seals are sometimes called) comes around 
to breathe a little whiff of fresh air, as soon as the 
first " blow" is heard by the hunter, who is, per- 
haps, half asleep, he is at once full of expectation 
and excitement. He places the point of his seal- 
spear close to the "blow-hole," and by the time 
" pussy " has taken two or three whiffs she is 
astonished by a sudden thrust of the spear crush- 
ing through the dome of snow ; the cruel barb on 




igloo the seal comes, about every quarter of an 
hour, to breathe. When he puts his nose close to 
the little hole at the top of the dome for some fresh 
air, he breathes in a series of short gasps that any 
one near the hole can readily hear. These holes 
are so small that even the close-observing Eskimo 
hunters, while walking over miles of ice-fields, 
could easily pass them by without observing them. 
But if there is a dog along, as in reindeer- 
hunting, and if the wind is in the right direction, 
and a seal has been breathing recently in the igloo, 

the spear-point catches into her flesh underneath 
the skin, and the hunter draws her to the top of 
the ice, crushes in the snow with his heavy heel, 
and then kills the captured seal. 

Sometimes the mother seal seeks a breathing- 
hole under the deepest snow and makes a much 
larger dome, so that the ice will form a shelf two 
or three feet in width. Here the little "kittens," 
or baby seals, spend their time until they are big 
enough to try to swim with their mother and learn 
to care for themselves. Here, too, she brings 




them food, and when disturbed, hurries away, 
leaving her kittens on their ice shelf, where they 
are safe from harm, because they are of the same 
color as the snow and, therefore, can not be seen 
by the wolf or bear who is out seal-hunting. The 
Eskimo, however, when he comes to one of these 
igloos, has an instrument like a long knitting 
needle, which he sticks in through the blow-hole, 
and, working it around, soon finds out whether 
any babies are to be kidnapped from Mother Seal's 
snow house. 

After little Boreas's father has gone into camp, 
and while he is building his snow house, the boys of 
the party go to work to dig a hole through the ice 
on the fresh-water lake, near where the camp is 
built, in order to get fresh water, with which to 
cook supper. The first thing necessary is to select 
a good spot for the well, which is generally about 
a foot and a half or two feet in diameter, and from 
four to eight and ten feet deep, depending, of course, 
upon the thickness of the ice. 

But, before they begin to dig, the boys fling 
themselves down on the ice, even flattening their 
noses hard against it, so as to bring their eyes as 
close to it as possible. From some peculiarity 

in the color and appearance of the ice they can 
judge as to there being water underneath it, for 
there is nothing so disappointing, after having 
dug the well five or six feet down, as to find lumps 
of ice coming up full of mud or sand, showing that 
the bottom is dry. The boys, however, seldom 
make a mistake in their observations, although 
now and then they will get "fooled" about it, and 
will find that they have spent a quarter of an hour's 
hard work for nothing. 

The deeper the snow has drifted on the ice the 
thinner the ice will be, as the snow protects it 
during the intense cold, just as in our climate the 
deep snow protects the delicate plants on the 
ground, and keeps them from being killed by the 
coldest weather. And as it is so much easier to 
shovel off the soft snow than to dig through the 
hard ice, the boys always look for a deep snow-drift 
very near to the spot where they have peered 
through the ice and seen clear water beneath. If 
they can get near a crack that extends entirely 
through the ice, it will also make it much easier 
to dig the well, as one side is thus already pre- 
pared for them. 

Having selected as favorable a place as possible, 




they commence their digging. The first instru- 
ment used is nothing more than a chisel, a bay- 
onet, or a sharpened piece of iron, lashed on the 
end of a pole, ten or twelve feet long. With this 
thev cut a circular hole in the ice of about two feet 
in diameter, and a foot deep. Then, when it be- 
comes difficult to use the ice-chisel, they scoop out 
the accumulated pulverized ice with thin ladles 
made from musk-ox horn, of which I told you in a 
former paper. One of these ladles is also lashed 
to a long pole, and is used to dip the cut ice out 
of the well. And so the boys work away at their 
well, first cutting down a foot or so with their ice- 
chisels, and then scooping it out with their ladles, 
then cutting again, then scooping, until finally 
they have bored clear through, and the fresh 
water comes rushing up to the top, and all the 
thirsty people in camp, who have had no water 
all day, — as well as the dogs, which are equally 
thirsty, — get a good drink, and have plenty of 
water with which to prepare supper. 

If the boys had not been successful in finding 
water, the girls would be obliged to collect a lot of 
ice or snow, and melt it in the stone kettles over 
the igloo lamps, and atleast an hourwould be wasted 
before their hot supper would be ready — and this 
is quite a serious affair, as in that terribly cold 
country, people want their supper just as soon as it 
can be made. Besides this, a great deal of oil 
would have had to be used in melting the ice and 
snow, and oil is very precious. 

In digging the ice-well, the boys are careful to 
keep the hole the same diameter away down to 
the water, especially when they come near the 
bottom, for if there are any fish in the lake or river 
they will try to catch them through this hole in the 
ice. Most of the lakes and rivers of the Arctic regions 
of North America are full of delicious salmon, and 
the poor Eskimo who have to eat so much fishy 
seal meat and strong-tasting walrus flesh, appre- 
ciate these fine salmon much more than do we, 
with our great variety of food. Their fish-lines 
are made of reindeer sinew, and are much stronger 
than are our lines. The fish-hooks are simply 
bent pieces of sharpened iron or copper, and as 
they are not barbed at the end the native fisher- 
man has to pull in very fast when he hooks his 
fish, or he will lose it, as every boy knows who has 
fished with a pin-hook. 

If a lake is well stocked with fish, the natives 
will often camp by it for two or three days and dig 
a number of holes, so that the women, and every 
boy and girl as well, can be busy catching salmon 
while the hunters are roaming over the hills looking 
for reindeer and musk-oxen. Here they will sit, 
on a couple of snow-blocks, nearly all day long, 
holding the hook a couple of feet below the ice. 

and bobbing it continually to attract the notice of 
the fish. Sometimes they attach small, polished 
ivory balls near the hook, to attract the fish, which 
seeing them, from a long distance, dancing up 
and down and glistening in the light, at once 
swim up and try to eat the reindeer bait on the 
bent hook, to their certain and speedy disgust. 
As a protection from the wind, the young fishers 
often build a sort of half igloo, and shelter them- 
selves behind it. This also serves as a place to 
hide the fish that are caught ; for there are always 
a crowd of half-starved dogs sneaking about, try- 
ing by hook or crook to steal a fish. 

But this is not the only way that the Eskimo boys 
and girls have of catching fish. In the spring of 
their year, about the middle of our summer-time, 
when the ice is breaking up and running out of 
their rivers, they catch fish in great quantities at 
the rapids in the rivers, and store them away for 
use in the winter. For this purpose they use a 
curious spiked and barbed fish-spear, which is 
shown in the illustration on the preceding page. 

When the fish are very numerous, the men and 
women, as well as the boys and girls, manage to 
get a footing on some rock in the rapids, where 
they can stand easily, and, as the fish rush by, they 
impale them on these spears until great quantities 
have been caught. The fish are then split open, 
and spread over double rows of strings stretched 
from rock to rock. Here they are left to dry, 
though in the cold, short arctic summer the fish only 
become about half as well dried, as they would in 
our climate. These dried fish are then stored in 
seal-skin bags and kept for future use; a great 
many are fed to the dogs to put them into good 
condition for the winter. 

When the reindeer have been killed, their skins 
are stretched on the ground to dry, with the hairy 
side down, and although they may freeze as stiff as 
a board, in the course of a week or two the water 
will dry out of them. These skins are then taken 
and put through a process by means of which they 
are made as nice and soft as a piece of buckskin or 
chamois-skin, — or, if it be a fawn reindeer, as soft 
as a piece of kid. This is done by scraping them 
with a peculiarly shaped instrument which tears 
off all the flesh that may have adhered, and scrapes 
away the inner thick skin that makes the hide so 
stiff and unpliable. When the skins are thick and 
heavy, the men do the work, for it is then very 
difficult ; but otherwise the women, and very often 
the little girls, scrape the skins and give the fin- 
ishing touches, and then make them up into 
coats, dresses, stockings, slippers, and all sorts 
of clothing. 

For cutting these reindeer skins into shapes for 
garments, a very queer kind of scissors is used.. 



It is, in fact, a kind of knife, and an odd knife 
at that. It looks very much like the knife that 
is used by saddlers and harness-makers ; and 
when it is used in cutting, it is always shoved 
away from the person using it. This knife is used 
for everything that is to be done in the way of 
cutting, from seal and reindeer skin to the thin- 
nest and most fragile strings. At meals, too, some 
one will put to his mouth a great piece of blub- 
ber or fish as big as your fist, seize as much as he 
can with his teeth, grasp the rest in his hand, and 
cut off a huge mouthful with this knife. If you 
were watching him, you would feel certain that 
he would slice off his nose in this awkward 
movement, but the Eskimo are so very dexterous 

that there is not the slightest danger of such an 

When the reindeer skins have been dressed, and 
made up into garments, and these have been put 
on, — girls and boys, men and women, are dressed 
so nearly alike, that at any considerable distance 
you cannot tell them apart. 

The Eskimo girl wears a long apron. And just 
over her shoulders, her coat-sleeves swell out into 
large pockets ; and in her stockings, just above 
the outer part of the ankles, she also has pockets, 
in which she keeps her sewing, moss for lamp- 
wicking, a roll of sinew for thread, and any other 
similar article that she may need to carry with 

By D. W. C. L. 

Three little flies in the room, on a pane — 
Three little flies just outside, in the rain. 

Said the three little flies as they hummed on 

the pane, 
To the three little flies who were out in the 

rain : 
Don't you wish you were here on this side of 

the pane, 
Instead of out there in the cold and the rain ? 
And then we must tell you there 's dinner 

Though, really and truly, we have n't been 


Said the three little flies outside in the rain 
To the three little flies inside on the pane : 
We think it 's much nicer out here in the 

Than shut up where you are, inside on the 

pane ; 
And then there 's more fun than the boys 

have at ball 
In dodging the rain-drops as fast as they fall." 

And now I am sure that my lesson is plain : 
Whenever you feel there is cause to complain, 
Remember the three little flies on the pane, 
And the three little flies just outside in the rain. 





(Recollections of a Page in the United States Senate.) 

By Edmund Alton. 

Chapter XVI. 


And now, in this month sacred to Independence 
Day, let us consider some of the memorable facts 
in regard to that great epoch in our national career. 

Of course, every young patriot knows all about 
the origin of the Declaration of Independence; 
the struggles and privations endured and the obsta- 
cles overcome by our forefathers ; the noble zeal 
of the statesmen representing the people in the 
Continental Congress ; the achievements of our 
battle-heroes both on land and on sea. From 
Lexington to Yorktown, you can easily follow the 
path of war. 

But though familiar with the causes that resulted 
in the independence of the colonies, you may not 
know the course of events that led to the formation 
of the republic and the creation of its present form 
of government, nor of the difficulties that accom- 
panied the nation during the early period of its 
career. You perhaps do not know that the most 
arduous task remained to be done after the war 
had closed. Liberty had been secured. How 
was it to be maintained ? That was the great 
question to which Washington, Franklin. Hamil- 
ton, and other leaders of the people applied the 
power of their minds. 

The great " Continental Congress," consisting 
of representatives of the colonies, immortalized 
itself by the Declaration of Independence on the 
Fourth of July, 1776. It convened at Carpenter's 
Hall (since known as Independence Hall), in the 
city of Philadelphia, on the 10th of May, 1775, 
and continued in session until 1781. 

While the Declaration of Independence was still 
under consideration in Congress, but before final 
action upon it, a resolution was passed (June II, 
1776), appointing a committee 

"To prepare the form of a confederation to be entered into be- 
tween these colonies." 

The committee performed the labors assigned to 
it, and on the 15th of November, 1777, "Articles 
of Confederation and Perpetual LInion" were ap- 
proved by Congress and submitted to the colonies 
for their adoption. Those Articles were agreed to 

by all the colonies' and signed by their authorized 
delegates in March, 1781. In the same month, 
the First Congress under the new arrangement 

To this confederacy, thus entered into, was given 
the name of "The United States of America," but 
the States comprising it were like so many empires. 
They did nothing more than enter into a friendly 
league or partnership, in which each State retained 
its "sovereignty, freedom, and power" — in other 
words, each State had supreme control over its own 
affairs, and the Congress itself could only meet and 
discuss what ought to be done, without having 
the power to say what should be done or to en- 
force obedience. Congress could give advice, but 
the States could follow it or disregard it, as they 

Such a league, therefore, was found to be but a 
worthless arrangement. To be sure, it could have 
done no harm, even had it tried ; but the purpose 
in establishing it was to derive some benefit from 
it ; and the people soon discovered that it was 
unable to do any work at all. 

The upshot of the whole matter was that Con- 
gress advised that a convention of delegates, to be 
appointed by the States, should be held at Phila- 
delphia on the 14th of May, 1787, to suggest some 
" remedy" (to quote the words of the resolution) 
for these " defects " ; and the representatives were 
accordingly chosen, and assembled on the 25th — 
eleven days later than the time fixed. 

These delegates were merely to "revise" the 
articles of confederation, and report their opinions 
to Congress and the various State legislatures. 
But after a brief deliberation, they came to the con- 
clusion that it was better to construct an entirely 
new federation, vested with complete powers. In 
other words, they resolved, on the 29th of May, 
"That a national government ought to be estab- 
lished, consisting of a supreme government, legis- 
lative, executive, and judiciary." 

With this in view, they began their work, 
and kept steadily at it until they had finished. It 
was a memorable event — that gathering of free 
and independent States, quietly arranging to merge 
their own sovereign rights into one mighty author- 
ity, protective, general, central, and supreme ! — 
one of the grandest spectacles, as has been said, 
recorded in the annals of the world ! And this, 

* Copyright, 1S84, by Edmund Alton. All rights reserved. 



boys and girls, is the wonderful story that is 
epitomized in the motto of our republic : 

E Pluribus Unum ! — " One composed of many." 

George Washington was chosen to preside over 
that great constitutional convention. Finally, on 
September 17, after a consultation of four months, 
it forwarded its report, and presented to the 
Congress of the Confederation the form of "a 
more perfect Union" and government for that 
Union. This was the Constitution — to which I 
have so frequently referred, and it was speedily 
transmitted by Congress to the various State 
legislatures, "in order to be submitted to a con- 
vention of delegates chosen in each State by the 
people thereof." 

It is needless to dwell upon the ordeal of criticism 
that it underwent in the State conventions. Eleven 
of the thirteen States having given their assent, in 
the mode of formal ratification,* the new Union 
and government came into existence, and the 
First Constitutional Congress of the United States 
assembled in the city of New York on the 4th of 
March, 1789. 

That Congress met in joint convention, and 
counted the electoral votes previously cast for 
President and Vice-President. This action re- 
sulted in declaring George Washington and John 
Adams duly elected to the respective offices 
for the first term. On the 21st of that month, Mr. 
Adams was, with proper courtesies, received by 
the Senate and "introduced to the chair"; and 
on the 30th, as I have already described, General 
Washington was inaugurated as President of the 
United States. 

Chapter XVII. 


HAVING thus recalled the several historic steps 
by which our Government was formed, let me now 
endeavor to help you to comprehend the theory as 
well as the workings of that Government. To 
properly understand the interests intrusted to the 
Federal law-makers, it is necessary to remember 
that at the time of the Revolution the people of this 
country were gathered into various "communities" 
or " societies," called "colonies," under a certain 
form of "government," which they found did not 
protect their interests as it should have done. They 
declared themselves " free and independent," and, 
in doing this, asserted, in the following words, the 
great principle which I have explained : 

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created 
equal ; f that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalien- 

* The remaining States (North Carolina 
t That is, born 

able Rights ; that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of 
Happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted 
among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the 
governed; that whenever any form of government becomes destruc- 
tive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abol- 
ish it, and to institute new government, laying the foundation on 
such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them 
shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness." 

So they threw off the government of the King 
of England, not only as a matter of " right," but 
as a matter of " duty" to themselves and children, 
and provided " new guards for their future secur- 
ity." Instead of " nations," they called their com- 
munities "states" ; and the people of each State 
agreed upon a new arrangement, or government, 
and appointed the necessary officers to attend to 
the objects of that government. 

But they all were engaged, during the Revolu- 
tion, in fighting one great enemy. They had, 
therefore, a common interest ; and so they said, 
" Let us join hands, and help one another." They 
did so, — and they won the fight. 

But after they had won, the people of the 
various States found that they were not only likely 
to be attacked again by a common enemy, but 
that they were also likely to get into wrangles 
among themselves. The people of each State had 
declared themselves free and independent ; they 
had had enough of fealty to a superior power ; 
they resolved to be their own sovereigns and govern 
themselves, and thus " assume among the nations 
of the earth, that separate and equal station to 
which the laws of Nature and of Nature's God " 
entitled them. 

It was, therefore, but natural that they should 
have been disinclined to create and arm with wealth 
and power a general government, that might also 
be made to wield, some day, the scepter of tyranny 
and oppression, and crush out the independence 
of the States and the lives and liberties of the 
people. They had writhed under the lash of a 
king, and they did not wish to establish a "sys- 
tem" that might eventually become a worse des- 
potism than that which they had escaped. So 
they said, " Let us enter into some sort of arrange- 
ment, and appoint some men to make certain 
rules, which shall be for our union and guidance. 
And they did. They entered into the " Articles 
of Confederation." But. as I have explained, 
this alliance of interests was found to be unsatis- 
factorv. Once more the States counseled together, 
and through their representatives determined to 
make a wiser and more helpful arrangement, that, 
in the words of these representatives, should ''secure 
a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domes- 
tic tranquillity, provide for the common defense, pro- 

and Rhode Island) added theirs later on. 
to equal rights. 




mote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of dent Lincoln that I have taken all this space to 

liberty to ourselves and our posterity '' : and they de- 
termined to appoint men enough and to give them 
power enough not only to prescribe, but to carry out 
the regulations necessary to these common and 
general needs. 

Yet they made a very natural and proper condi- 
tion. The people of New York, for instance, said : 
" Now, we have already a government and officers 
of our own. We have certain interests which do 
not affect the people of Virginia or the people of 
other States ; and we should prefer that these offi- 
cers should continue to attend to these special 
interests, because they are familiar with our local 
affairs and wants, and can assist us, in those mat- 
ters, better than officers appointed from other 
States." And the people of Virginia and other 
States said: "That suits us; for we, too, have 
special interests and governments and officers of 
our own, and we prefer our local officers to attend to 
our special wants." And it was accordingly agreed 
that the people of the States should retain their 
various State governments, with the understand- 
ing, however, that the State officers should not 
meddle with things that concerned the people of 
other States, and that, on the other hand, the 
Federal Government and its officers should not 
interfere with the State governments or officers ex- 
cept in such matters as concerned the general and 
common interests of all the people, or about which 
there might be conflict or ill feeling between the 
people of two or more States. 

This agreement and arrangement is the Con- 
stitution. The people of all the States thereupon 
became one great nation, with a great Federal Gov- 
ernment ; and the people of each State retained 
their local governments. 

But you are not to look upon this Federal Gov- 
ernment, or Republic, as a "club," or regard it 
as simply a sort of "constabulary," or "police 
force." It has a grander purpose than to lock 
people up, and preserve order in the streets. The 
United States is a mighty nation. It represents 
the "sovereignty" of fifty millions of people. 
The officers of government are but the agents 
appointed by the people ; and the people have 
a right to remove those officers, whenever they 
desire other or better men to act for them. The 
government was created by the people, in the exer- 
cise of their own "sovereign authority"; it was 
established for their benefit and welfare ; and it 
is managed by the people, through agents chosen 
and paid by them. And these three great facts 
are embraced in the memorable words of Presi- 

bring to your attention, that the Government of 
the United States of America is : — 

"A government of the people, by the people, 
a.nd for the people." 

And I have made this explanation that you may 
understand the important principles which were 
voiced by the very preamble of the Constitution, 
and which speak in all our institutions and our 
laws ! 

Chapter XVIII. 


Our first law-makers patriotically began at once 
to organize and equip the various branches of the 
governmental service, and otherwise meet the in- 
tentions and requirements of the Constitution.* 
They promptly arranged for defraying the expenses 
of the new government by the levying of taxes. 
Then followed various enactments, establishing 
certain executive departments, and furnishing them 
with clerks and other assistants. They also passed 
the important "Judiciary Act," which created a 
system of Federal courts, thus organizing the third 
" coordinate " branch of the government, and 
putting into operation the mighty machinery of 
national law and justice. 

During their second and third sessions, moreover, 
the members of the First Congress established the 
permanent seat of government at Washington, 
D. C. ; f attended to banking and currency ques- 
tions; arranged for the payment of the public debt 
incurred prior to the new form of government in 
maintaining the interests of the people ; and sup- 
plied other wants of the nation. Their labors have 
been continued by subsequent Congresses, so that 
now the Federal Government is a marvelous con- 
trivance of thoroughness and order. 

Let us look at the result of all this legislation 
of the law-makers, so far as it bears upon the 
general plan of the two other branches of the sys- 
tem, — the law-executors and law-interpreters. 

The executive power is, by the Constitution, 
vested in the President;! but the business in- 
trusted to the executive power is distributed, under 
the provisions of numerous enactments, among 
seven " established executive departments," as 
follows : 

i. The Department of State. 

2. The Department of War. 

3. The Department of the Treasury. 

4. The Department of Justice. 

5. The Post-office Department. 

*SeeSec. VIII.. CI. iS. 

t The struggle over this question had been started some years before, under the Confederation, and was fiercely continued by the First 
Congress, members from various sections contending for different localities. The present location was agreed upon as a "compromise," 
but actual possession of it by the Departments of Government was not taken until the autumn of the year 1S00. 

J Constitution, Art. II., Sec. I., CI. 1. 




6. The Department of the Navy. 

7. The Department of the Interior. 

These departments are presided over by officers, 
styled "Heads of Department," and known re- 
spectively as the Secretary of State, Secretary of 
War, Secretary of the Treasury, Attorney-general, 
Postmaster-general, Secretary of the Navy, and 
Secretary of the Interior. Together, they form 
the " Cabinet," or body of " confidential advisers " 
of the President, whose instructions it 
is their duty to see carried out by 
the thousands of civil officers 
in the employ of the Gov 

The duties of the va- 
rious executive depart- 
ments are, of course, 
almost infinite. The 
State Department 
was created on the 
27th of July, 1789, ' - 
by the name of "De- 
partment of Foreign ,. , 
Affairs ; " but this 
name was changed 
within two months 
afterward. The 

Secretary of State 
is first in rank of all 
the members of the 
Cabinet. He is the 
" right-hand man " 
of the President ; 
attends to "the for- 
eign interests of the 
country, through its 
ambassadors, minis- 
ters, and other agents 
abroad, or through the 
diplomatic representa- 
tives of foreign powers " ac- 
credited to the United States ; 
conducts the correspondence between the 
and the governors of the States ; is custodian of the 
great seal, and of the treaties and laws of the United 
States, and in other ways is a very prominent 

The Secretary of War has charge of the military 
service, and, in that department, executes the orders 

of the President, who is, by the Constitution, Com- 
mander-in-chief of the Army.* 

The Secretary of the Treasury superintends the 
national finances. He is the tax-gatherer and pay- 
master of the Government. From customs duties,in- 
ternal revenue, and other sources, millions flow an- 
nually into the public vaults, the key to which is kept 
by the disbursing officer, or treasurer. The Secre- 
tary must not let any of these funds slip away without 


permission of law, and every cent received and ex- 
pended must be regularly accounted for. t 

* Constitution, Art. II,, Sec. II., CI. 1. 

t See Constitution, Art. I., Sec IX., CI. 7. The accounts of the government are stated by "fiscal" years, instead of by calendar years ; 
that is, beginning on the 1st of July instead of the 1st of January. An idea may be formed of the magnitude of these financial operations 
from a few figures. During the fiscal year ended June 30, 1SS4, the " net ordinary receipts" of the Government were $348,519,869.92, and 
its "gross receipts," $555,397,755.92: and during the same period, its "net ordinary expenditures " were $189,547,865.85, and its 
" gross expenditures," $504,646,934.83. And although up to the year 1S61 neither the gross receipts nor the gross expenditures, in any 
one year, reached $100,000,000.00, but, on the contrary, averaged far below, the total gross receipts of the Government from its beginning 
in 1789 to June 30, 1884, amount to $21,078,087,835.31, and its gross expenditures to $20,650,486,065.71. 

Vol. XII. — 45. 




The Attorney- general give? the President his 
opinion in regard to the meaning of congressional 
legislation and other matters of doubt, when called 
upon for legal advice, and represents the Govern- 
ment in all law-suits in which its interests are 

The Postmaster-general looks after the trans- 
mission of the mail, and, as his title implies, is 
chief of all the postmasters, mail-carriers, and 
postal agents in the United States. 

The Secretary of the Navy has charge of the 
naval service, and therein executes the orders of 
the President as Commander-in-chief of the Navy. 

The Secretary of the Interior looks after the 
Indians — the "wards of the nation," the execu- 
tion of the laws relating to patents, public lands, 
and pensions, and he has charge of nearly every- 
thing that does not come within the duties of the 
other departments. 

I have named the departments in the order of 
their establishment by Congress. The Department 
of the Interior was not established until 1849, and 
the Attorney-general and Postmaster-general had 
to wait some years before becoming cabinet officers. 

Each of these seven cabinet officers now receives 
a salary of eight thousand dollars a year. They are 
appointed by the President " by and with the ad- 
vice and consent of the Senate." 

To attempt to give you an idea of all the sub- 
ordinate civil offices created by Congress would be 
perplexing. The assistants to the Executive are 
legion in number, and scattered far and wide. 
The head-quarters of the Executive Departments 
are, of course, at the city of Washington, and the 
splendid structures assigned to their use have, 
with the White House and Capitol, given to that 
city the complimentary title of the " City of Pal- 
aces." Any one who passes the great Treasury 
Building in the afternoon at about four o'clock, 
when the army of clerks is leaving for the day, 
readily understands why some folks have the notion 
that every resident in the Federal city is a Govern- 
ment officer. The clerks pour out from all the 
doors in one continuous stream, to which there 
seems to be no end. They are of all ages and con- 
ditions An old colored man, who has picked cotton 
beneath the lash of slavery, comes merrily along, 
proud of the fact that he can now work for greenbacks 
and support his family in comfort. A pretty girl, 
thinking perhaps of a new hat or humming a tune 
from an opera; a gray-haired veteran, familiar 
with the secrets of many an administration of by- 
gone years ; a middle-aged woman, with a face 
furrowed by the iron fingers of care, struggling to 
maintain her orphaned children ; a happy-go- 
lucky, dandy-looking stripling, twirling his cane 
with one hand and gracefully twisting his mus- 

tache with the other,— these are but a few speci- 
mens of those who follow in quick succession. 

The judicial power of the Government is vested 
in the Supreme Court and a number of inferior 
tribunals.* The Supreme Court consists now of 
the Chief-justice of the United States, with a salary 
of $10,500 a year, and eight Associate Justices, 
receiving $10,000 each. They are appointed 
by the President, with the approval of the Senate. 
The existence of this, the highest court in the land, 
can not be disturbed by legislative power, and the 
justices can only be removed from office by pro- 
ceedings of impeachment. 

Next to the Supreme Court come the nine Cir- 
cuit Courts and. then, the numerous District 
Courts of the United States, the judges of which 
are appointed in like fashion. The powers of these 
various courts are, in general, to decide all cases 
which involve any Federal law ; and, to assist them 
in their work and enforce their mandates and de- 
crees, there is a multitude of clerks, marshals, 
and other officers. 

Such, in brief, are the Executive and Judicial 
Departments of the Government. 

Chapter XIX. 


This great system, you will remember, is not 
the work of a day. The three powers of govern- 
ment were furnished by the Constitution ; yet to 
provide for the wielding of those powers has de- 
manded a century of legislation. But, however 
otherwise complete or incomplete in the organiza- 
tion of its government and its ability to transact 
business as a nation, it would have been humiliat- 
ing indeed if the Republic, in itsearlydays, had been 
too poor to display a Great Seal to give "authentic- 
ity " to its official acts and records, or to flourish a flag 
as evidence of national sovereignty ! The old Revo- 
lutionary forefathers understood " the proprieties," 
as well as the eternal fitness of things ; and it is a 
curious fact, as indicating the importance attached 
to a seal, that this matter was considered by the 
Continental Congress on the very day on which 
the Declaration of Independence was read, and the 
separate existence of the States was proclaimed to 
the world. After the signing of the Declaration, on 
the 4th of July, 1776, and before the adjournment 
for the day, a committee was appointed — consist- 
ing of Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, and 
Thomas Jefferson — "to prepare a device for a 
seal for the United States of America." Although 
the committee made a report within a few weeks, 
no decisive action was taken for six years. On the 
20th of June, 17S2, however, the Congress of the 

Constitution, Art. III., Sec. I., CI. i. 

i88 S .; 



Confederation adopted a device for the Great Seal 
of the United States. 

This device is shown by the accompanying illus- 
trations. * It was used by the old General Con- 
gress ; and by an Act of the First Congress under 
the Constitution (September 15, 1789), it was 
adopted as the Great Seal of the United States, to 
be kept by the Secretary of State, and affixed by 
him to proclamations and other executive instru- 
ments and acts. 

The subject of a flag or standard was also consid- 

led to the following enactment, which is yet in 
force, approved on the 4th of April, 18 18. 

An Act to establish the flag of the United States. 

Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives o/the 
United States of America in Congress assembled. That from and 
after the 4th day of July next, the flag of the United States he thir- 
teen horizontal stripes, alternate red and white ; that the Union be 
twenty stars, white in a bine field. 

Sec. 2. And be it furtlicr enacted, That on the admission of 
every new State into the Union, one star be added to the union of 
the Hag ; and that such addition shall take effect on the 4th day of 
July then next succeeding such admission. t 


ered in the Continental Congress; and, on the 
14th of June, 1777, this resolution was passed : 

Resolved, That the flag of the thirteen United States be thirteen 
stripes, alternate red and white; that the union be thirteen stars, 
white, in a blue field, representing a new constellation, t 

The admission into the Union, after the estab- 
lishment of the present Government, of Vermont 
and Kentucky as new States, caused the number 
of stars and stripes to be increased to fifteen each ; 
and the subsequent addition of five other States 

Whenever, therefore, an American sees this 
glorious ensign of his country, the stripes recall to 
his mind the birth of the Republic, with the events 
that surrounded it ; the stars suggest its wonderful 
development in size, in resources, and in power ; 
and, in homage to the national grandeur and pro- 
tective authority which it represents, wherever he 
beholds it, — whether in mid-ocean floating at the 
head of a passing ship, or waved aloft in the streets 
of foreign lands, — he lifts his hat to it with a pa- 
triotic feeling of filial love and pride. 

* The eagle and arrows are familiar to all schoolboys. The "reverse," or unfinished pyramid is seldom if ever used. The motto 
" R J>luril'us Lhium " — " one composed of many " — is well known. The mottoes on the reverse, " Annuii Caipiis" and " Novus ordo 
Seelornm," mean respectively, " Heaven favors the undertaking " and " A new order of things." 

t For interesting particulars concerning the origin of this device see St. Nicholas for November, 1883, p. 66. 

OUR FLAG IN 1776 AND IN 1885. 





(A Scries of Brief Papers concerning tile Great Musicians.) 

By Agatha Tunis. 

IV. — Mozart. 

" There can be but one Mozart." How often 
have these words been repeated by all who are 
familiar with the music of this immortal master, the 
prince of melody ! Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart 
was born at Salzburg, Austria, January 27, 1756. 
His musical career began in his infancy. His re- 
markable genius, together with his serious face, 
caused the fear that he would not live to grow up. 
His sister, Marianne, had considerable musical tal- 
ent, and while her father was giving her lessons, 
Wolfgang would employ himself in picking out 
thirds. He soon received instruction with her on 
the clavier. He was a sweet, tractable child, ap- 
plying himself to whatever was set for him to 
learn ; but soon everything was given up for music. 
At the age of six, he composed a concerto for the 
piano, so difficult that his father could not play it, 
and Wolfgang was obliged to show him how it 
should go. Wolfgang then began to study the 
violin, and one day, when some musicians were 
practicing together at his father's house, he begged 
that he might join them. His father requested 
him to play very softly so as not to disturb the 
others ; but he played so beautifully that the 
second violin, whom he accompanied, soon ceased 
and left Wolfgang to finish alone. The child was 
of a sunny and loving disposition, and would often 
say : " Next to God comes Papa." He wished he 
could " put his papa under a glass case, so that he 
could never escape from home," and once, when 
away from home, he " sends his mamma a hun- 
dred million kisses, and kisses Marianne's nose and 

The father now determined to travel with his 
little prodigies, and in 1762 they visited Vienna, 
where they were enthusiastically received. The 
emperor, when he first heard Wolfgang perform, 
called him the "little magician." The children 
were petted by the whole court, and Wolfgang 
hugged and kissed the Empress Maria Theresa and 
the little Princesses ; before leaving, the children 
were painted in full court costume. They next 
played in London and Paris, completely fascinating 
the public, and in Paris a painting was made in 
which we see Wolfgang at the harpsichord, with 
his sister by his side, and behind them his father 
playing on the violin. They next traveled in Italy, 
where they created a great sensation. While at 

Rome they heard Allegri's " Miserere," at the 
Sistine chapel, a work so prized that people were 
forbidden to copy it ; but Wolfgang took a few 
notes, and after reaching home, copied it all from 
memory. At Naples, the people thought his won- 
derful improvisations were due to the magic prop- 
erties of a ring which he wore ; but when he re- 
moved it, and still the enchanting sounds fell from 
his fingers, their admiration knew no bounds. 

In 1773, the family returned to Salzburg, where 
young Mozart worked steadily until he was twenty- 
one. He was now anxious to travel and establish 
himself in his profession ; and as his father was 
unable to leave his business, the mother accom- 
panied her boy to Paris ; but to part with Wolf- 
gang was a severe trial to the father. 

From that time on, misfortune seemed to pursue 
this gifted man. Thenceforth he was never free 
from trouble and sorrow. On arriving at Paris, 
he found that the public had forgotten the little 
boy who but a few years before had captured all 
their hearts ; his efforts to support himself were 
unsuccessful, and it is pitiful to read of the slights 
he sometimes endured. In 1779 ne returned to 
Salzburg unsuccessful and disheartened. He staid 
there until 1781, when he left for Vienna, which he 
made his home for life. He now began a steady 
battle against the poverty which was always threat- 
ening him. If he left the city, some creditor was 
the last person to bid him farewell, and some 
wretched debt was his first welcome on his return. 
His wife, Constance Weber, to whom he was mar- 
ried in 1782, though devoted to him, was'unfortu- 
nately a poor manager ; the young people con- 
stantly changed their lodgings, and the house was 
never in order. The Emperor, who could have 
relieved all Mozart's distresses by giving him a 
court position, was dissuaded from doing so by the 
jealous and inferior musicians who surrounded him. 
It seemed as if nothing were too petty nor too cruel 
for some of these men to do, and no other musician 
ever suffered such wrongs at the hands of his 
brother artists as did Mozart. He worked inces- 
santly at anything which would bring in money, 
even to giving lessons ; yet he never had any- 
thing, and his appeals to his friends for help were 
pitiful. But through all his troubles Mozart kept 
his sunny disposition ; a friend who once found him 
and his wife dancing about the room was astonished 
when told they did it to keep warm, as there was no 



wood in the house. In 1785, his father visited him, 
and was delighted to find his son's affairs in a better 
condition, and his position in the musical world very 
high. Haydn, who dined with them, said : " I rec- 
ognize your son as the greatest composer I ever 
heard of." The friendship between Haydn and 
Mozart was strong and lasting ; each loved and 
admired the other. In 1782 Mozart dedicated six 
quartets to his "dear Papa Haydn." 

Shortly after his opera of " Figaro " had been 
successfully produced in May, 17S6, Mozart gladly 
accepted an offer to play at Prague. On arriving, 
he found the streets ringing with his music. 
"Every one," he wrote home, "dances here to 
the music of ' Figaro ' ; nothing is sung but 
' Figaro ' ; no opera so crowded as ' Figaro ' ; 
forever 'Figaro.'" Perhaps nowhere in Mozart's 
career did he meet with higher appreciation than 
during this visit. 

In October, 1787, after his return to Vienna, 
Mozart produced his greatest opera, " Don Gio- 
vanni." As late as the night before the perform- 
ance the overture had not been copied. Mozart 
wrote on until late into the night, and his wife could 
only keep him awake by telling him the old fairy- 
tales, such as he loved when a child ; at times he 
would break from laughter to tears, until, growing 
more and more weary, he fell asleep. At seven the 
next morning, he arose and finished the score, the 
ink in some parts being scarcely dry when the 
copies were placed on the musicians' desks. The 
musicians had to play the overture at sight, but its 
beauties aroused the greatest enthusiasm both in 
the players and the audience. Mozart superin- 
tended all the rehearsals, and inspired the singers 
with his own ideas and feelings. He taught the 
hero to dance a minuet, and when one of the sing- 
ers failed to conquer his score, Mozart altered it on 
the spot. At last the Emperor bestowed a court 
position on Mozart, but the salary was so meager — 
it was less than $500 — that it was of little help to 
him, while his duty, to compose dance-music for 
the court, was humiliating. Well could he reply, 
when asked his income by the tax-gatherer, " Too 
much for what I do ; too little for what I could do." 

Handel's music had a profound influence over 
him, and on hearing a motet of Bach's, he was 
amazed, and said, " Here is a man from whom we 
can learn something," and he never ceased to study 
Bach as long as he lived. At last poverty, per- 
secution, and misfortunes of all kinds began to tell 
upon Mozart, and his light spirits deserted him ; 
he grew very gloomy, and felt that he had not 
long to live, nor did this feeling ever after forsake 
him. During 1789 Mozart was obliged to travel 
in order to eke out his income, and to procure 
the funds to start on his journey he pawned his 

plate. No wonder that he felt saddened and de- 
pressed. When Haydn, before his London visit, 
said farewell to Mozart, the latter replied : "This 
is our last farewell in this life." Haydn, who 
was sixty years of age, thought Mozart referred to 
him, but it was his own fate that Mozart prophe- 
sied, and truly, for Mozart passed away while 
Haydn was yet in London. After Mozart re- 
turned to Vienna, he began to write the "Re- 
quiem." His melancholy increased, and, finally, 
his health broke down ; he felt that he was writing 
his own requiem, and told his wife so ; but he was, 
nevertheless, much absorbed in his work, often 
greatly tasking his strength. During his last ill- 
ness, he asked some friends who had called upon 
him, to take the different parts of the " Requiem " 
and sing it with him ; all went well till the ' ' Lacri- 
mosa" (a special section of the " Requiem" near 
the middle of the score), when he burst into tears, 
and was unable to proceed. His last words were 
an effort to tell where, in the " Requiem." the ket- 
tle-drums should play. He died on December 5, 
1791. His wife was too poor to buy a grave for 
him, and, as in the case of Bach before him, no 
stone was placed to mark his grave ; a furious 
storm raged during the funeral, and but a hand- 
ful of men out of all the great city of Vienna 
followed him to the grave. 

This same great city of Vienna, in which his 
laborious life was passed in so much poverty and 
distress, has just devoted $50,000 dollars to raising 
a monument to his memory. This is more money 
than Mozart received for all the work of his life, 
and as a recent writer says: "It is a striking 
inconsistency of fortune that this tribute should be 
paid the great composer by the children of those 
who allowed his life to be cut short by penury, 
hardship and neglect." 

Few are they who could follow the career of this 
gifted man without the deepest pity and sympathy. 
Fortunate, indeed, it was for him, that he had an 
ideal childhood, for his manhood was as great a 
contrast to it as is darkness to light. Nothing but 
his genius enabled him to bear up under the pov- 
erty and persecution which beset him at every 
step. No one less gifted could have lived on. 
pouring out strain after strain of deathless music. 
He could not help writing, and outward circum- 
stances were nothing to him. He frequently 
worked out an idea in his head, and wrote it with 
the greatest ease, "as people write letters." He 
preferred to compose at night, and some of his 
loveliest creations were born with the morning 
light. His music always told the story of his 
heart, and so every one loves it. As long as 
music lives Mozart will live : his music is his 



On a large farm, there was an old cat with five little kittens. One 
of the kittens was gray, like its mother ; another was black, with one white 
paw ; a third was black all over ; while the other two looked just alike. 

The mother cat told her kittens to be kind and polite to every one, — 
and to be very kind to clogs, — and each night, before going to sleep, she 
made them repeat these words: " Let dogs delight to bark and bite, but 
little kittens never." 

One day, a big dog named Sport came to live on the farm. Sport was 
full of fun, and he thought that chasing cats was great fun. Near the barn 
in which the cat and kittens lived, grew five large apple-trees ; and when 
Sport first saw the cat family, he thought what fun it would be to frighten 
the mother into the hay-mow, and chase each one of the five kittens up a tree. 

So he gave a loud bark, and sprang in upon the happy brood. To 
his great surprise, the kittens, instead of arching their backs up to twice 
their size, and hissing in an ill-bred way, all sat quite still, and looked 
quietly at the stranger, to see what he was going to do next. Then 
there was a long pause, followed by two short paws which the gray kit- 
ten put out toward the dog, as though she would like to shake hands with 
him if she only knew how. This so amused Sport that he tapped the kitten 
very gently on the back, and then the cat, dog, and kittens were soon 
rolling and tumbling about the barn floor in a frolic. From that moment, 
Sport and the cat family were great friends. 

Not many days after this, the five kittens were playing along the bank 
of a small river which ran behind the barn, and, spying a piece of board 
which lay with one end on the ground and the other in the water, they 
all jumped upon it. But they were no sooner upon it than the board broke 
loose from the shore, and started clown the stream ! 

The kittens were badly frightened, and cried aloud for help, and though 
the old cat hurried out of the barn, she could not do anything for them. 
She could only rush up and down the bank, and she was afraid that all 
the kittens would be carried down to the mill-pond and over the dam. 
But suddenly she heard a well-known bark, and the next moment Sport 
— dear old Sport — was at her side! The good dog saw what the trouble 
was at once, and the thought came to him that, if he should bark just as 
loud as he could, some one might run down to the river to see what was 



the matter, and then the kittens would be saved. So Sport began at once. 
How he did bark ! 

In less than two minutes, one ot the men came running toward them. 

It was the farmer himself. He thought irom the great noise Sport 
was making that the dog must have found a family of wood-chucks, and 
so when he caught sight of the kittens he began to laugh. 

But then he took a long pole, and very slowly and carefully pulled 
the kittens ashore. Then, he picked them up in his arms, and carried 
them toward the barn, while the old cat and Sport walked on behind. 

That night, the old cat asked her kittens what or who had saved their 
lives that day. 

" And we must n't count you ? " said two or three in one breath. 

A smile lit up the face of the happy mother as her little ones said this, 
but she only said, quietly : " No; you need n't count me." 

" Then," said the all-black kit- 
ten, " it must have been the farmer." 

" Or the long pole," said the 
kitten which had one white paw. 

"It was Sport!" cried the 
little gray kitten 

"We owe a great deal to Sport," said their mother; "but most of all 
to the fact that you have always tried to be polite and kind to even- 
one about you. Sport would never have come to save you if you had 
been cross, ugly kittens, and I hope you will always remember the lesson 
of this day, — will you ? " 

" I will," said the one white-pawed black kitten. " I will," said the 

all-over black kitten. 


e wil 

remember," said the two that looked 

just alii 

I will re — mem — b " beean the little grav kitten, but before 

she could finish the sentence she was sound asleep 





Here is a July Riddle for you ! 

What is that which bursts its tender coverings 
and springs up full of life before it is sown ? It 
may be called a distant cousin of the artillery fern, 
which your Jack has already shown to you,* and 
it is sown all over the country this month by in- 
dustrious boys and girls who love the pretty red 
and yellow things, and carry bunches of them 
about — but that is before the above incidents have 

Well, who said it -was a flower? Not I, my 
chicks ! 

Now we may discuss 


Oh, Oh, Oh ! where did all those letters come 
from ? letters by hundreds, by thousands — letters 
by quarts, by bushels, by heaps and hills. The 
dear Little School-ma'am says she never before 
saw so many letters at once ; and they all are 
addressed to Deacon Green in response to his mes- 
sage last month : Fifteen Owners Wanted. 
The little lady says he has been reading them from 
morning till night, day after day, but he has not 
yet been able to examine all that have come. 

Aha ! here is the Deacon himself, with his hands 
and pockets full of letters. His face is glowing with 
happy pride, and he says : 

" Thank the youngsters for me, friend Jack, and 
tell them they shall hear from me next month." 


So FAR, it seems that not one of my chicks has 
been able to tell me, from personal observation, of 
the very, very oldest apple-tree ; but here is some- 
thing from a fourteen- year-old English boy : 

" In answer to your question as to the oldest- 
known apple-tree, allow me, dear Jack," he writes, 

" to send you the following account of a very noble 
tree, and an American apple-tree to boot. It was 
printed in last February's issue of Young Eng- 
land" : 

On the' land of an old gentleman named Hotchkiss, living at 
Cheshire, Connecticut, is an apple-tree supposed to be, at the pres- 
ent time, no less than 186 years old. It is said to be the last of an 
orchard planted by the first settlers in that neighborhood. Mr. 
Hotchkiss is over eighty years of age, and he has known and owned 
this tree for nearly half a century. Some time ago, he informed a 
gentleman that, when he was a boy, he heard his grandmother say 
that she used to play in her early childhood under its then broad 
and sheltering branches. The body of the tree is four feet in diam- 
eter up to the point where the limbs branch out. There are five 
main branches, each of which is nearly two feet in diameter. Its 
height is sixty feet, and from its outermost branches, apples falling 
perpendicularly lie upon the ground thirty-three yards apart ! Mr. 
Hotchkiss said that he had picked up and measured one hundred 
and twenty-five bushels of good sound apples out of one year's prod- 
uct of this tree, and he estimates that it has borne from ten to 
twelve thousand bushels from the date of its being planted up to the 
present time. 

Well, I am astonished! Ten to twelve thousand 
bushels of fruit, and to think that all of these once 
were green apples ! Enough, the Deacon re- 
marks, to double up half the boys of the United 
Kingdom, to say nothing of the Dominion of 
Canada and all the colonies. If such apple-trees 
grew in my meadows I fear the happy crickets 
would sing many a dirge before the close of sum- 
mer ; not that crickets care for apples, but they 
do like boys and girls. 


How many silk-worms, do you suppose, are re- 
quired to make one pound of silk? According to my 
most learned birds, and you may be sure that they 
know what they are talking about, it takes almost 
three thousand silk-worms. And now, if you wish 
to find out how far a pound of silk goes toward 
making one of you little girls a nice silk gown for 
Sundays, you can have some yards of honest dress- 
silk weighed, and so discover the matter for your- 
selves at the rate of three thousand cocoons to the 


The wearing of jewels of gold and silver began 
with savages, who could think of no more secure 
way of keeping their valuables than hanging 
them in their ears, noses, lips, cheeks, or around 
their necks or arms. After a while they seemed to 
forget that security had been the object in thus 
disfiguring themselves, and from being pleased 
at seeing their treasures so conspicuously and 
safely displayed, they actually began to fancy that 
the effect not only pleased every one else, but 
that they themselves presented a very attractive 

Think of a person being attractive with a hole in 
the end of the nose and a gold ring hanging there ! 
Or with the cheek pierced by a large pin ! I am 
told that not only savages, but persons who call 
themselves civilized, actually pierce holes in their 
own ears and hang gold and jewels through them ! 
This, however, seems too strange to believe, and 
I 'd thank you all to look sharply at the ears of 

* Jack-in-the-Pulpit, St. Nicholas, May, 

i88 S .] 

J A C K - I N - T 1 1 E - P U L P I T 

/ 'J 

any civilized person you may meet, and tell your 
Jack whether the strange story is true or not. 

Of one thing I am sure : the dear Little School- 
ma'am, bless her ! and Deacon Green are quite 
civilized, and they do not hang jewels from their 

At all events, very odd things are done by mor- 
tals to aid or improve upon nature, and some of 
these things, the Little School-ma'am says, are as 
horrid as they are odd ; while others, she maintains, 
are full of a grace and poetry which please the eye 
and delight the imagination. 

Japanese maidens, who are pretty enough natur- 
ally, I am told, daub their faces liberally with red 
and white paint, and put a dab of bronze 
on the lips. Chinamen sometimes allow 
their finger-nails to grow as long as six 
inches. Chinese girls glory in deformed 
feet. A tribe of South American Indians 
bore a hole in the lower lip and force 
in there a wooden plug larger than a sil- 
ver dollar, making the lip look like a 
shelf! Can it be true that all over the 
world men and women are busy disfig- 
uring themselves in the hope of looking 
handsome ? 


A good friend of St. Nicholas, Mr. 
John R. Coryell, wrote to your Jack, 
about these same queer notions of people 
who, to put it mildly, choose to make 
themselves objects of pity, for beauty's 
sake, and now he asks me to tell you 
some pleasanter facts concerning persons 
who wish to ornament themselves, and 
yet are not quite ready to bore holes 
through their flesh in order to shine in 

For instance, he says there are Cuban 
women who fasten huge fire-flies in their 
hair, and let them shine there like stars 
taken from the sky. This is a beautiful 
idea, and the fire-fly does not seem to object, for 
when released, it flies home as if it had a good 
store of adventures to relate to its waiting friends. 

There are many other such graceful fancies, he 
says, but of them all, none is so fantastically beau- 
tiful as that in vogue among the Darnley Islanders, 
who, in truth, are the last persons one would sus- 
pect of any such thing. They live on an island in 
Torres Straits, between New Guinea and Australia, 
and are not only ugly looking, but are more than 
suspected of being cannibals. 

On Darnley Island, it appears, there is a kind 
of very large and most beautiful butterfly called 
Papilio poseidon. It is marked in brown, black, 
and bright-red colors, and measures seven inches 
across the wings. This gorgeous creature is cap- 
tured by the Islanders bent on decoration ; a tough 
but delicate vegetable fiber, in lieu of a thread of 
cotton, is tied about its large body, and the end 
of the fiber secured in the man's hair. A half- 
dozen butterflies will be tethered in this way to the 
man, and as they soon become reconciled to cap- 

tivity, their graceful flutterings about the unhand- 
some head of the man produce an effect difficult 
to describe and hardly to be imagined. 


These Darnley Islanders with their living head 
ornaments remind me of pet beetles. You all re- 
member the picture which your Jack showed you 
last winter, in which a lady was decorated with a liv- 
ing beetle, tethered to her dress and doing his best 
to act the part of a jewel. A little New Yorker, 
Grace I. S., now sends a message to you about 
similar insects. "Last summer," her letter says, 
"my sister had three brown beetles from Cuba 


given her, looking like those once pictured in 
St. NICHOLAS." After dark she would take them 
out of the box, give them a bath, when they would 
show bright spots like eyes on the forehead, and 
a broad band of fire under the wings, making the 
water a lovely greenish yellow. She fed them 
with sugar and water, then let them run over the 
carpet. They trotted like little slowing trains of 
cars showing bright head-lights. 


Marietta. Ohio, March 31 


Dear Jack: The illuminated frog or toad described in a recent 
number of St. Nicholas is not new to me. 

If any of your readers who live in the region of fire-Hies will catch 
a toad and put him under a glass and feed him with fire-flies, they 
will soon have a luminous frog. 

One evening, two or three years ago. I gave a few live fire-flies to 
a frog for the benefit of a cousin of mine who never had seen a fire- 
fly. It afforded much amusement to us, though I fear it was poor 
fun for the fire-flies. But they bad a gay time after they were swal- 
lowed, if one could judge by the sudden way in which the frog was 
lighted up from the inside. 

In this way you can have an illuminated frog as long as the ani- 
mal's appetite lasts. 

Hoping for the continued success of St Nicholas. 

I am yours truly, CllAS. Hall. 





CONTRIBUTORS are respectfully informed that, between the isl of June and the 15th of September, manuscripts can not conveniently be 

examined at the office of St. Nicholas. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with contributions 

will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date. 

We are indebted to Mr. Samuel W. Penny packer, of Philadelphia, 
for permission to copy two of the illuminations, or "reward-cards," 
in his collection, as illustrations to Dr. Eggleston's article in this 
number on " A School of Long Ago." Mr. Pennypacker has also 
kindly furnished the following translation in verse of the curious 
inscription which appears in the engraving on page 644 : 

Who is humble when successful. 
Who is patient when distressful. 
Fears not fortune's fickle changes — 
Him no ill fate e'er deranges. 

He unharmed can have fate grieve him, 
See luck come and see it leave him, 
Ever ready he for all things, 
For the great and for the small things. 

When misfortunes crowd about him, 
When they overwhelming cloud him, 
Patience is his sole reliance — 
He may bid them all defiance. 

When good fortune smiles and blesses, 
Wooes him with her soft caresses, 
Then Humility can save him 
From the pride that would enslave him. 

If his work is not assuring — 
What he does has no enduring — 
Patience will help him to bear it, 
Soothe his trouble and will share it. 

If he meets with prosperous breezes 
And has all things as he pleases, 
No Humility can hurt him — 
For his fortune may desert him. 

If he meet with sore affliction, 

Having no man's benediction, 
Needing much commiseration, 
Patience is his consolation. 

If he far aloft is lifted, 

If his burdens all are shifted, 

This may only be to try him — 

Let Humility sit by him. 

Humbleness can all things cower ; 
Patience has the greatest power; 
Patience saves from every sorrow; 
Pride humility should borrow. 

Patience is for time of mourning; 
Humbleness when fate is scorning; 
Sweet Humility assures us; 
Patience from our ills secures us. 

Both these virtues then I cherish, — 
Without either would I perish; 
Much of comfort have they for me, 
Rest and quiet they restore me. 

Our readers will be interested in the letters written by George 
Washington and Richard Henry Lee, while boys, which are to be 
found on page 685 of this number. They originally appeared in a 
volume entitled " Mt. Vernon, the Home of Washington," by 
Benson J. Lossing, published in this country by Messrs. John C. 
Yorston & Co., of Cincinnati, and in England by Messrs* Ward, 
Locke & Co., London. Our thanks are due to those publishers for 
permission to reprint the letters in St. Nicholas. 


Florence, Italy. 

Dear St. Nicholas: A very dear aunt of ours in America 
kindly sends us your interesting magazine every month, for we live 
in Italy, where there are no English magazines published, so far as we 
know. . 

I have a little brother and sister here, and a sister and a brother in 
heaven. Our parents are Americans, but we were all born in 
Florence and have never seen America. We hope, however, to go 
there before long, as we have a grandfather, grandmother, aunts, 
uncles, and cousins, whom we long to see. 

We live in a very pleasant part of the city and have beautiful 
views in every direction. We are right in front of a large square 
with a pretty fountain in the center, and I can see from our win- 
dows the great cathedral, or " Duomo," so much admired, the Palazzo 
Vecchio, the Campanile, and a large part of the Viale dei Colli, which 
is considered one of the most beautiful drives in Europe. From the 
back of our house we can sec Fiesole, which is called " the Mother of 
Florence," and many little villages. We have plants, flowers, gold- 
fishes, birds, two doves, and a little one, two and a half days old, 
besides a little kitten that we took to catch mice. 

Florence L. H. 

No. Easton, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Perhaps you would like to hear how 
highly favored the children of this town (Easton) are. A rich man 
residing here has had the St. Nicholas sent free into every family 
from which a child attends any of our public schools. The rich and 
poor are all used alike ; and when the mail arrives which brings this 
bright and pretty book, you will see the children in crowds waiting 
anxiously around the post-office to receive the magazine so kindly 

given them. Or in the evening, if you should go into any house in 
town, you would find the little ones gathered around the table look- 
ing at the pretty pictures or reading the stories it contains. I do not 
believe there is another town in the country so blessed in this way. 


Lake George. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little girl, eight years old, and 
I have a dear, good grandma, three sisters, and two little brothers. 
My oldest sister has a pony and a dog. We have two peacocks. 
They have no name, but my little brother calls them Jenny and 
Rose. Our house is called Sunny side. My little sister has two 
dolls. Their names are Bell and Dinah. One morning our man 
killed a big hedgehog, which was covered with quills two or three 
inches long. We have a farm-house, and an apple -ore hard, to which 
we like to row over and get the apples. I hope you will print this 
for me, as it is the first letter I have written to you, and I like the 
St. Nicholas very much. Your little reader, 

Edith K. 

Providence, R. I. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little girl eleven years old. My 
sister and 1 collect worms, moths, and butterflies; it is great fun, I 
think. We find the worms and put them under wire cases on straw- 
berry boxes, which we fill with earth and leaves, while with others 
we only put leaves. We have a net each, and one or two extra, so 
if any friends make us a visit and want to hunt butterflies with 
us they can. We go to Wickford in the summer; there are a great 
many butterflies at Wickford, and so we get a good many. We 
have collected more than a year and enjoy it very much. The 

T H E LET T E R - B G X . 


moths we catch at night, as there is but one that flies in the 
day, and that is the humming-bird moth. I like the impcrialis 
best of all the moths. By what I saw of it in a picture, I think that 
you can tell moths from butterflies, because their antenna; are so 
much larger, and besides, the butterflies' antenna; arc clubbed. I 
think that they are much handsomer than the moths, at least most of 
them. The worms make cocoons in the autumn, and you have to 
keep them all through the winter, as they don't come out till spring; 
you have to water them once or twice, so that they think it 
is raining. I found a cocoon this winter; it was a cccropia. There 
are a good many of the polyphcmus and saternite in Wickford, but 
satcruiic are poisonous; they are covered with fuzzy stuff, and if 
you touch it it makes your hand sting like everything. I was stung 
by one once, and I hope I never will be again. There is a southern 
butterfly in Wickford. only one or two. We only saw two of them, 
but we could not catch either of them. My papa saw a perfect one 
and I saw an imperfect one, but, of course, it was Sunday when 
papa saw the perfect one and a week day when I saw the imperfect 
one ; but we caught a good many other kinds, as I said before. The 
sulphur and the white ones (I don't know the name of them)'are the 
commonest; the archippus, Camberwell beauty, black swallow-tail, 
yellow swallow-tail, and the tortoise-shell are quite common, but 
they all have their time. The silver-moon is a very odd kind, it 
has a little silver crescent on the back of each wing. I found two 
worms in the early summer, and they came in the silver-moon time. 
My brother, myself, and a few others went on an expedition after 
buttertlies, when my brother happened to go into some bushes when 
out came two p>ro}iicthais moths ; they had taken refuge in the 
bushes for the day ; we caught them both, but one was imperfect, so 
we let him go. The luna is a very uncommon moth, and is one of 
the largest and prettiest, it is of a light-green color, and has a white 
body, the wings ending in tails. The most scarce of all northern 
moths is the "hickory devil," and if you should happen to find one it 
is most likely to die, it is so sensitive, but some of them live, though 
;t is very hard to take care of them ; they are the terror of the negroes 
at the South, though they are harmless. I was very glad to sec 
letters about worms and moths, because it shows that some one 
else is enjoying finding them. Helen. 

Hotel Metropole, Geneva. 
My dear St. Nicholas : I have been taking you since last Jan- 
uary, 1384 My dear Mamma gave you to me as a birthday present. 
I enjoy you very much. I watch for you every month. I am nine 
years old, and my birthday conies on the 26th of January. I have 
a little sister named Grace, and a brother named Allan. 1 often read 
you to them, and they like you very much. Allan is eight and 
Grace is six. I read the letters and like them too. 1 am in Europe 
and am having a very nice time. I stay in Geneva. And I lived in 
a little country place named Summit, New Jersey. And I came 
over here with Papa and my little brother, and came to see my 
cousin Marie, and I am with my dear Grandmamma, and left my 
little sister with my other Grandmamma. Grandmamma reads you 
to me very often, and I like the funny little pieces of poetry she 
reads to me. Yours truly, Llla T. 

A Visit to Mocnt Vernon. 

Reading,, Pa. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I visited Mt. Vernon recently, and I 
am now going to tell you about the principal things I saw there. 
Before entering the mansion of Mt. Vernon, we paused to take a 
view of Washington's tomb. All members of Washington's family 
are buried in lots fenced off around the tomb. Washington and his 
wife are buried inside the tomb, behind a heavy iron door. But out- 
side of this door, in another division of this tomb, behind the grated 
iron door at the entrance, are two marble coffins. One of them has 
the name of George Washington and the coat-of-arms of the United 
States upon it. The other has the name of his wife upon it. This 
is all of the new tomb, except that the key has been thrown into 
the Potomac. The old tomb is just a common brick structure. We 
then had our photographs taken on the piazza of the mansion. The 
piazza is paved with stones taken from the Isle of Wight. We then 
entered the mansion. The first room we came to was the state 
dining-hall. In this hall there is a picture of Washington, on a white 
horse, surrounded by his officers. It represents a scene before York- 
town. Washington is in the act of reproving the chief engineer for 
some misdoing. Then there is a finely carved mantel, made of mar- 
ble, and sent as a present to Washington from abroad, and upon it 
is a sea-fan placed there by Washington himself. And upon a table 
in this room is a miniature cut of the Bastile in a glass case. And 
in different rooms are the harpsichord presented to Eleanor Custis by 
Washington as a wedding present; the flute on which Washing- 
ton once played ; the field-glass belonging to Washington still 
hanging where he bung it himself; the chair which came over in the 
"Mayflower," and which I bad the pleasure of taking a scat in ; the 
bed in which Lafayette once slept ; the bed in which the Fatherof his 
Country died; also that in which Martha Washington died. A 
British field-ensign, which is said to have been captured by Wash- 

ington on the field of battle, is also in one of the rooms. Now, I 
would like you to publish this, for it may interest some of the young 
readers of St. Nicholas very much. 

Yours truly, A. L, F. 

In the number for July, 1S80, St. Nicholas published an article 
entitled "Two Gunpowder Stones," one of which told how Eliza- 
beth Zanc, a brave girl, at one of the border forts during the Revo- 
lution, faced death from the rifles and arrows of the besieging 
Indians, in her endeavor to secure fresh powder for the men who 
were defending the fort, when she knew that every man was needed. 
A friend and contributor, Mr. John S. Adams, now sends to the 
Letter-Box these verses commemorating the heroic deed of the girl 
who risked her life to save the garrison. 


This dauntless pioneer maiden's name 

Is inscribed in gold on the scroll of Fame; 

She was the lassie who knew no fear 

When the tomahawk gleamed on the far frontier. 

If deeds of daring should win renown, 

Let us honor this damsel of Wheeling town, 

Who braved the savage with deep disdain, — 

Bright-eyed, buxom, Elizabeth Zane. 

'T was more than a hundred years ago, 
They were close beset by the dusky foe ; 
They had spent of powder their scanty store, 
And who the gauntlet should run for more ? 
She sprang to the portal and shouted, " I ; 
'T is better a girl than a man should die! 
My loss would be but the garrison's gain. 
Unbar the gate!" said Elizabeth Zane. 

The powder was sixty yards away, 

Around her the foemen in ambush lay; 
As she darted from shelter they gazed with awe, 
Then wildly shouted, "A squaw!" "a squaw!" 
She neither swerved to the left or right, 
Swift as an antelope's was her flight. 
'Quick! Open the door!" she cried, amain, 
'For a hope forlorn! 'T is Elizabeth Zane! " 

No time had she to waver or wait, 
Back she must go ere it be too late; 
She snatched from the table its cloth in haste 
And knotted it deftly about her waist, 
Then filled it with powder — never, I ween, 
Had powder so lovely a magazine ; 
Then, scorning the bullets, a deadly rain, 
Like a startled fawn, fled Elizabeth Zane. 

She gained the fort with her precious freight ; 
Strong hands fastened the oaken gate; 
Brave men's eyes were suffused with tears 
That had there been strangers for many years. 
From flint-lock rifles again there sped 
'Gainst the skulking redskins a storm of lead. 
And the war-whoop sounded that day in vain, 
Thanks to the deed of Elizabeth Zane. 

Talk not to me of Paul Revere, 

A man, on horseback, with naught to fear; 

Nor of old John Burns, with his bell-crowned hat - 

He 'd an army to back him, so what of that? 

Here 's to the heroine, plump and brown. 

Who ran the gauntlet in Wheeling town! 

Hers is a record without a stain, — 

Beautiful, buxom, Elizabeth Zane. 

Jamestown, N. Y. 

Dear St. Nicholas : 1 have taken you five years, and I think very 
much of you. I am always happy if I can sit down with a copy of 
St. Nicholas and read your interesting stories. I always turn the 
pages to the Letter- Box as soon as I get you. I like to read the 
letters of those who value St. Nicholas as I do. 

Your loving reader, Bertha H. 

P. S. Would you please tell me how long the St. Nicholas has 
been published '.' — B. H. 

Since November, 1S73. 

Will the young friends whose names here follow please accept 
our thanks for their very pleasant letters, and our regrets that we 
have not room to publish them all: Julia Carr, Cora A. Knight, 

7i 6 



Israel N. Breslauer, Lily Agnes Stevens Brown. Louis S Darling, 
Lilian B-, Blanche Lawrence, John Stebbins E. M T., Hubert E. 
V., C. F. Grim, Eddie Collins, S. A. W-, Jennie J. Duxbury, Gold 
H. Wheeler, Madge Galloway, "A Faithful Reader," Dick F. F., 
Hortie O. M., E. B. B., Marie Louise Cooper, F. B. G., Bessie B... 
Marian Louise W., Charlotte Morton, Jessie Ryan, Anna Lister, 

Amy Whedon, M. L. W., N. H., Willie D. Rhea, Pansy T. Kirk- 
wood, May, Bertha V. Stevens, Elizabeth Lovitt, "Two School- 
girls," Kittie Clover, William Wirt Leggett, Ellie Kendall, M. L. C, 
Edith and Alice Hookey, Mary P. Sheppard, Marion Gertrude 
Smith, Loretta, Violet, Lily, and Pansy, Flossie, Nellie and Reggie. 
Mildred- Coxe. 


-FIRST RKPORT.^te^^ ijl 


We are advised that under various pretexts our 
Chapters have been solicited to patronize various 
new papers or magazines, which are stated to be 
published " in the interests of" the A. A., and our 
Secretaries are kindly requested to " send in their 
reports" and "contributions," and otherwise to 
"aid in making this a helpful medium of inter- 
communication," etc. 

It would seem unnecessary to state that all of these 
publications, without exception, are issued without 
any authority or sanction from the Editors or Pub- 
lishers of St. Nicholas, or from the President or 
projectors of the Agassiz Association. We should 
not refer to this had we not observed that a few of 
our Chapters already have been led to send re- 
ports, etc., to these periodicals, evidently suppos- 
ing that they were in some way regularly con- 
nected with our Society. 

We may repeat, once for all, as is distinctly 
affirmed in our Constitution, that St. Nicholas 
is the official organ of communication between 
members and Chapters of the Association. 

For the fifty-first time, the President of the A. A. has the pleasure 
of extending to each Chapter the right hand of fellowship, and to 
each member a hearty greeting. By an error in a recent report 
April 28 was mentioned as Agassiz's birthday, instead of the well- 
known 28th of May. If any of our newer Chapters, misled by this, 
were beguiled into the rural districts a month too soon, we shall feci 
guilty of Pneumonia in the third degree ! 


A letter asking for aid in the study of lichens fell into our box- 
one day. closely followed by tht; following appropriate neighbor: 

Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. 
Mr. H. H. Ballard: 

My Dear Sir: I should like to offer assist- 
ance to beginners in the study of lichens. I will cheerfully name 
specimens as far as I am able, and advise as to methods of study. 
I shall also be glad to make exchanges. Yours truly, 

Fred'k LeRoy Sargent, President, Chapter No. 686. 
Address 415 Broadway, Cambridge, Mass. 

A Course in Entomology. 

Prof. A. W. Putman-Cramer, the President of the Brooklyn, 
N.Y., Entomological Society, in addition to the kind invitation 
printed in our latest report, has volunteered to conduct a class 
through a somewhat extended course of original observation and 
field-work in entomology. It is proposed that the course consist of 
20 lessons, and be freely open to every one, whether a member of 
the A A. or not. To indicate somewhat the nature and scope of 
these lessons, we print the first lessons here. It will evidently be 
impracticable to print the course in St. Nicholas, and we have de- 
cided to issue the lessons in the form of leaflets, which will be for- 
warded to students as rapidly as required. To help meet the expense 
of printing and mailing the twenty lessons, a nominal fee of one dol- 
lar for the course will be charged. 

All who desire to avail themselves of this opportunity may send 
their names at once to Mr. John B. Smith, Editor of Entoniologica 
Americana, 290 Third Av., Brooklyn, N. Y. If fifty names be re- 
ceived before Aug. 1, the course will be carried on. Every student 
who shall satisfactorily conclude the twenty lessons will receive a 
handsome certificate, signed by the Instructor, and countersigned by 
the President of the A. A. 

Lesson i. How to Study a Butterfly. 

Select any large butterfly — Danai's Archippus, for example. 1st. 
Make as neat and accurate a pencil-drawing of it as you can. No 
matter if you have never drawn a line before. Do your best. If you 
have a box of paints, you may color your sketch, but this is not 

2nd. With pen and ink on note-paper, write a careful description 
of the insect, noting the following points in order: 

a. Measurements from tip of antenna: to tip of abdomen, and from 
tip to tip of extended wings. 

b. The principal, or ground, color, whether brown, yellow, black, 

c. Describe any lines or spots you may observe, and state as 
nearly as you can on what portion of the wings or body they are 
found. Do this for the under as well as for the upper side. 



d. Break the wings from one side, lay lliem flat un a piece of 
glass, and with asmn.ll camel's-hair brush, clean and dry, gently rub 
the color from them. Examine this colored dust carefully with a 
magnifying glass or microscope, and draw portions of it as it appears 
thus enlarged. To what can you compare the little particles ? How 
are they arranged on the wing ? Are they all of the same size and 
shape ? 

e. Carefully remove all the color from the wings, and examine 
the frame-work that remains. What color is it? What does it look 
like? Do you notice any device for imparting strength or rigidity 
to the wing? Describe it. Make a careful drawing of a wing after 
the color is removed : do not draw the veins or ribs at random, but 
count them, and follow their true direction, for their number and 
course aid in determining the name of the butterfly. 

f Break off the feelers or antenna; from the head. Look at them 
through your glass. Draw and describe them, making particular 
note of the shape of the club at the tip. 

What device do you observe, by which the antennae are enabled 
to bend freely in every direction, and yet be rendered rigid at the 
will of the insect? 

g. Describe the head. State whether it is hairy or not ; whether 
it is broad or narrow, long or short. Observe whether the eyes 
bulge out distinctly like a head, or whether they are nearly flat. 
State also whether the antennae, at their junction with the head, are 
far apart, or almost in contact with each other. This is also a point 
toward the naming of the insect. You should find attached to the 
head in front, two other appendages, called palpi, or lip-feelers. 
Describe them; and state whether they grow below, above, or 
between the antenna;. At the lower side of the head you should 
see a small coil, like a watch-spring. This is the tongue. It is not 
easily examined in a dry insect, but you may note its color, and 
anything else you may observe. 

h. Look, now, at the thorax, as the division of the body behind 
the head is called. What parts do you find attached to the thorax? 
How many legs on each side ? How many wings ? Break off the 
legs from one side, and carefully draw and describe them. Be 
especially careful with the one nearest the head. Is it longer 
or shorter than the others ? More or less hairy ? Has it the 
same number of joints ? The joint nearest the body is the femur: 
the next is the tibia. The last is the foot, or tarsus. The plural 
of tibia is tibiae, and of tarsus, tarsi. How many joints has the foot? 
Examine closely whether every leg has a foot. Which foot, if any, 
has fewer joints than the others? How many has it? If the legs 
are so thickly clothed with hairs that you can not see these parts, 
lay them on a piece of glass, and place a drop of carbolic acid on 
each. After half an hour, soak up the acid with blotting paper. 
You can then easily remove all the hairs with a stiff brush, and can 
see the joints perfectly. 

i. Finally, look your butterfly over again, state anything you 
know of its habits; where and how and when you got it, and any 
other facts regarding it that occur to you. 

Then carefully wrap up your drawings and descriptions, and mail 
them to the Brooklyn Entomological Society, to Mr. John B. Smith. 
290 Third Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

The A. A. in Canada. 

One of our largest and strongest Chapters is No. 395, Montreal, 
Canada. It has more than fifty members, and has made its influ- 
ence felt in the city for several years. 

Heretofore, our Association has not spread in the " Dominion " 
with anything like the rapidity of its extension in the L T nited States. 
It has occurred to the Montreal Chapter that an impulse may be 
given to the work from that city. 

We have, therefore, authorized Mr. W. D. Shaw, Secretary of 
Chapter 395, to act as our Canadian Secretary. Mr. Shaw will 
devote himself to the task of extending a knowledge of the A. A. in 
Canada, and he will receive and classify our Canadian correspond- 
ence, and regularly transmit the same to the President. 

Hereafter, therefore, until further notice, all residents of Canada 
who desire information regarding our Association may address Mr. 
Shaw, at 34 St. Peter Street, Montreal. 

Reports from Chapters. 
Nine Snakes and a Skeleton. 

Spearfish, Dakota. I have never seen anything about rattlesnakes 
in St. Nicholas but once, but to me they are very curious. I don't 
mind if they are dangerous. I killed nine rattlesnakes last sum- 

mer. One of these had fifteen rattles. I killed them coiled, so as to 
study their exact position. 1'hen I boiled their heads, to examine 
the structure. My pet rabbit was bitten by one, and I watched the 
effect of the poison. I am getting a whole skeleton of a man, — I 
think he was an Indian, for I fmind it in an Indian burying-ground, — 
in a bag, My little sister called it my "bag of bones," and would 
not go near it. No one knows how hard I have worked to put 
this skeleton together, gluing bones together, etc., but I have 
learned a great deal about human anatomy. With many good 
wishes for the A. A. — Jeannie Cowgill, Corresponding Member. 

[At there another girl in the -world ivho has killed nine rattle- 
snakes and Jointed a skeleton ?\ 

682, Philadelphia (IV.), — We have lectures on zoology at each 
meeting. A course on physiology was commenced last week. — 
James E. Brooks, Sec. 

What is the Use of the A. A. ? 
[For obvious reasons, ive withhold the name of the -writer of the 
following letter, which is a sain file of many that cause our hearts 
to overflow with gratitude. One such letter is ample compensation 
for all the tune and labor given to our zvork. The writer is one of 
the gentlemen who have volunteered their kind assistance. } 

I have received many letters from Chapters relative to their work, 
all showing the Chapters to be in sober earnest. In all the history 
of the Chapter in this place, there has never been a brighter outlook 
than now. At the last meeting there was an attendance of eighteen, 
with very many visitors. Two or three members are added each 
week. One thing which has served in great measure to further the 
cause has been the regular publication of extended reports of these 
meetings in our local papers. I am informed by the editor of one 
of these papers, that these reports are copied by the journals all 
through the State, and that the formation of similar Chapters in every 
town is strongly urged. Among those who have joined the Chapter 
here, are many young men who were just at the age when they 
began to have the sole charge of their own characters, and who have 
been benefited beyond measure by the Agassiz Association, and its 
influences I could now enumerate twenty-five who have been 
saved to good and useful manhood through nothing but the ennob- 
ling effect of having this love of Nature grafted upon them. If this 
has been the result in this one town in five years, what must it be 
in the country in entirety? And what will it be in the future? 
Pardon the length of this letter. I have been so in earnest as to 
forget myself. Yours in all sincerity, 


Minerals, eggs, insects. Correspondence. — Louis W. Wheelock. 
2017 N. 17th St., Philadelphia. (Curator, Ch. 556.) 

Texas wild flowers and beautiful varieties of cactus, for eggs, min- 
erals, insects, or back numbers of St. Nicholas. — Chesly Alex- 
ander, Abilene, Texas. 

Aragonite, selenite, and other good minerals. Correspondence. — 
E. E. Amory, 3525 Grand Boulevard, Chicago. 

Mica schist and gneiss, for fossils. — J. McFarland, Ch. 58, 1314 
Franklin St., Philadelphia. 

Foreign and Canadian insects, birds, reptiles, and minerals. 
Correspondence. — W. D. Shaw, 34 St. Peter St., Montreal. 

A complete collection of unmounted pressed ferns from Pough- 
keepsie, N. Y., for a complete collection of same from Hartford, 
Conn., or Gainesville, Florida. Write first. — G. Yan Duzen, 81 
Carroll St., Poughkeepsie, N. Y. 

Lizards {salamander, erythronota, and bilineata). G. A. Grove, 
Fayetteville, N. Y. 

Sea-urchins with or without spines, and from one-half inch to 
three inches in diameter, for eggs, or minerals. Chapter 256, Box 81, 
Newton Upper Falls, Mass. 

Burrs of the long-leaved pine, for minerals and seaside curiosities. — 
R. S. Cross, Sec, Ch. 601, Purvis, Miss. 

Starfish, horseshoe crabs, and Atlantic shells, for tin ore, asbestos, 
or agates. — Parker C. Newbegin, Defiance, Ohio. 

Eggs. — S. Linton, 1243 Dorchester St., Montreal. 

Bird-skins, for same. Minerals for minerals. — Miss S. H. Mont- 
gomery, Box 764, Wakefield, Mass. 


Is there any such thing as a " hoop-snake " ? A school-mate says 
' JVo,' and brings a clipping from Forest and Stream to prove it ; 
while a teacher of the High School names persons that have seen 
them ! 

[JVe -will gladly publish the direct testimony of any one that has 
seen a hoop-snake with his own eyes.\ 

How does the common fresh-water snail support itself on the sur- 
lace of the water with the ventral surface uppermost, and how does 
it propel itself when in that position? G. Van Duzen. 

If our atmosphere were removed, would another form ? 

What may be called impurities of the atmosphere? 

Why do dark objects sink into snow more rapidly than light ones? 

7 i8 



Why does whirling or the sight of whirling objects produce 

Of what use to the fish are the stones found over the eyes of the 
" sheep's head " ? 

New Chapters. 









No. 0/ Members. 

A ddress. 

Bridgeport, Conn. (A) .. .7. 
Cincinnati, O. (D) 25. 

Shelburne Falls, Mass. (A) ..9. 

Titusville, Pa. (B) 5. 

Delaware, 0. (A) 10. 

Buffalo, N. Y. (K) 8. 

Clifton, N. Y. (A) 4. 

Westfield, Mass. (A) 20. 

Akron, O. (B) 6. 

San Francisco, Cal. (H) 

New York, N. Y. (V) 
New York, N. Y. (VV) 
Bolton, England. (A) 

Alamo, Texas (A) 

Fairview, N. J. (A) . 

. G. P. Bullock, S7 Courtland St. 
Miss Edith Wilson, 

Oak St., Mt. Auburn. 
.Merrill Carley. 
. Edith W. Cadwallader. 
.W. H. Maltbie, Box 780. 
. May L. Perry, 49 Mariner St. 
.Mrs. M. M. Johnston, 

Box 539. 
.Miss Annie Boume. 
.Miss Belle Green, 

213 N. Union St. 
. Morris Thompson, 

2309 Octavia St. 
.G. S. Connell, 134 E. 19th St. 
J. N. Bulkley, 351 W. Szd St. 
.R. Ainsworth, 49 Chorley R'd. 
. Miss Bertha Harris. 
.Mrs. C. W. Asbury. 


Clifton, O. (A) 5 . . Arthur Espy. 

W.Worthington, Mass. (A) 12.. O. B. Parish. 

Columbia, S. C. (A) 6..J. M. McBride. 

Onondaga Valley, N. Y. (A) 6.. Mrs. J. W. Wilkie 


Greenwich, Conn. (A) 
Washington, Ind. (A) 
Harrisonville, Missouri (A) 
Boston, Mass. (H) 

850 Bangor, Maine. (A) . 

Cambria Station, Pa. (B) 
Willis, Montana. (A) . . . 


Ashland, Ohio. 

St. Louis, Mo. (J). 


Providence, R. I. (B) . 

D. L. Bardwell. 

to. . Ben Clawson. 

4.. Miss Bessie Lawder. 

12.. Miss Sara E. Saunders, 
17 State St. 

1 1.. Miss Allie L. Y'eaton, 
15 Prospect St. 

13. .Miss Fanny M. Stiteler. 

.6. . Mrs. F. A. Reynolds, (Beaver- 
head Co.) 


.A. A. Packard, 115 Angell St. 


The address of Ch. 762 is now W. H. Hugg, P. O. Box 3, Balti- 
more, Md. 

Address all communications for this department to the President 
of the A. A. 

Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass. 


The answer to this rebus is an extract from an oration. The 
seven letters, inclosed in seven similar circles, will spell the name of 
the orator. The letters of the monogram in the lower left-hand cor- 
ner will spell his birth-place, and the right-hand monogram will spell 
the place where he died. 


t. To save. 2. An instrument for paring. 3. The central part 
of an amphitheater. 4. Splits. 5. To obliterate, "lyonhart." 


I am composed of fifty-nine letters, and am the patriotic utterance 
of a great statesman, and his surname. 

My 55-6-35-57-6-33 is a city famous in American history. My 
57-28-43-57-48-3-40-23 is a business which was seriously interfered 

with at the beginning of the Revolution. My 27-1 1 -14-56-3 6-2 6-20- 
39 is an American statesman and jurist who was born in Virginia in 
1755. My 40-9-52-21-58-38 2-47-5-4-57-13-29 is the Christian and 
surname of our author. My 17-46-42-7-1-31-24-10 is his nation- 
ality. My 51-40-37-12-4 is the surname of a statesman upon whom 
our author pronounced a famous eulogy. My 16-45-5-19— 44-54-57 
is an official body of which our author was the leading member dur- 
ing 36-32-59-7-41-35-6-25*5 administration. My 53-34-56-50-6-8 
4-30-18 became a State during Polk's administration. My 22-15-49, 
when read as Roman numerals, will hint at the age at which our 
author died. "miss gussy." 


Across : 1. Given to luxury. 2. Complete views. 3. Sentenced. 
4. One who is proposed for an office. 5. Placed. 6. Minute por- 
tions of matter. 7. Offers. 8. Untainted. 9. An opening through 
which cannon are discharged. 

Diagonals. From 1 to 3, regions ; from 2 to 3, particles of 
stony matter ; from 3 to 5, to get away from ; from 3 to 4, a hard sub- 
stance ; from 1 to 5, a familiar sort of picture ; from 2 to 4, a kind 

of rock. CYRIL DEANE. 



I 1. In July, 2. A margin. 3. Gowns of state, 
pendence. 5. Gay. 6. An inclosure. 7. In July. 

II. 1. In firearms. 2. To proclaim. 3. A basket used by 
anglers. 4 Independence. 5. A city of Japan. 6. A game at 
cards. 7. In firearms. " dycie." 


My primals form a famous and familiar saying (in Latin) of Caesar's. 
My finals form the modern name of the country to which Caesar's 
saving referred. 

Cross-words (of unequal length) : 1. A city which surrendered to 
General Grant on July 4, 1S63. 2. A republic of South America. 
3. The most celebrated river of the ancient world. 4. An island in 
the Mediterranean that was visited, not long since, by a terrible 
earthquake. 5. One of the New England States. 6. A river of 
Afghanistan. 7. The capital of the State of Delaware. 8. One of 
the loftiest mountains of the Bolivian Andes. 9. A river of Holland 
which flows into the Zuyder Zee. 10. One of the north-central of 
the United States, n. The capital of Sardinia. 12. A famouscity, 
formerly the metropolis of Persia. " IMMO.' 




My first is in Ohio; my second, in Pennsylvania; my third, in 
Indiana; my fourth, in Vermont ; my fifth, in New Hampshire ; my 
sixth, in Kentucky ; my seventh, in Maine ; my eighth, in Florida ; 
my ninth, in Nebraska; my tenth, in California: my eleventh, in 
Michigan; my twelfth, in New York. My whole is what our fore- 
fathers fought for. f. ,\. w. 

Each of the seven letters in the above rebus has an addition, 
which, when read in connection with the letter, makes a word. 
When properly arranged, these seven words will form a maxim of 
Poor Richard' 's. 


1. Behead and curtail egg-shaped, and leave a tank. 2. Behead 
and curtail to venerate, and leave always. 3. Behead and curtail a 
Mohammedan nymph, and leave a possessive pronoun. 4. Behead 

and curtail a surly look, and leave an uproar. 5. Behead and cur- 
tail high in situation, and leave to arrange. 6. Behead and curtail a 
French coin, and leave hastened. 7. Behead and curtail a straggler, 
and leave an ancient engine of war. 8. Behead and curtail a girl's 
name, and leave a useful article. 9. Behead and curtail a speech, and 
leave proportion. 10. Behead and curtail a Scotch landholder, and 
leave a tune. ir. Behead and curtail to long, and leave a part of the 
head. 12. Behead and curtail custom, and leave to bend for want of 

The beheaded letters, when transposed, will spell a national holi- 
day ; and the curtailed letters, when transposed, will spell what it 
celebrates. PAUL REESE. 


Cross-words : 1. A sheltered place ; reversed, a long, snake-like 
fish. 2. Moisture; reversed, to marry. 3. The juice of plants; 
reversed, a step. 4. A snare; reversed, a number. 5. To scour; 
reversed, the prickly envelope of a seed. 

Diagonals, from 1 to 5, a person afflicted with a certain incurable 
disease; from 5 to i, to drive back. " alcibiades." 


Each of the words described contains the same number of letters; 
and the beheaded letters, when read in the order here given, will 
spell the name of a very prominent person. 

1. Behead one, and leave the egg of an insect. 2. Behead a fine 
fabric, and leave a single point. 3. Behead a measure of time, and 
leave something which contains a drum. 4. Behead active, and 
leave to meddle. 5. Behead to dispatch, and leave to terminate. 
6. Behead to discover, and leave an emissary. 7. Behead to barter, 
and leave a measure. 8. Behead a sheet of canvas, and leave to be 
ill. 9. Behead harness, and leave part of the head. 10. Behead to 
rave, and leave a small insect. 11. Behead to assist, and leave a 
wager. 12. Behead exact, and leave a summer luxury. 13. Behead 
recited, and leave ancient. "THE CARTERS." 


Puzzler's Cross. Upper Diamond : 1. P. 2. Cam. 3. Josos. 

4. Console. 5. Passerine. 6. Mooring. 7. Sling. 8. Eng. 9. E. 
Right-hand Diamond : 1. R. 2. Res. 3. Sects. 4. Retreat. 5. 
Recreates. 6. Steamed. 7. Sates. 8. Ted. 9. S. Lower Dia- 
mond : 1. R. 2. Bud. 3. Prier. 4. Brannew. 5. Ruination. 

6. Dentine. 7. Reins. 8. Woe. 9. N. Left-hand Diamond : 
1. N. 2. Mew. 3. Dices. 4. Mistake. 5. Nectarine. 6. Wear- 
ing. 7. Skins. 8. Eng. 9. E, Central Square: 1. Sleet. 2. 
Leave. 3. Eager. 4. Evens. 5. Terse. 

Hexagons Across. I. 1. W. 2. Sop. 3. Stray. 4. Porte. 

5. Aries. 6. Ken. 7. D. II 1. R. 2. Cam. 3. Laved. 4. 
Edile. 5. Tenon. 6. Ten. 7. S. 

Half-square, i. Tunes. 2. Utah. 3. Nap. 4. Eh. 5. S. 

An Hour-glass Puzzle Centrals, Vacations. Cross-words: 

1. Baseviols. 2. Heralds. 3. Maces. 4. Man. 5. T. 6. Lid. 

7. Smoke. 8. Oranges. 9. Footsteps. 

Numerical Enigma. 

Thus came the lovely spring with a rush of blossoms and 

music ; 
Flooding the earth with flowers, and the air with melodies 
vernal. Elizabeth. Part III 

Double Cross-word Enigma. Herring, Halibut. 
Easy Double Acrostic Primals, Arm ; finals, Ada. Cross- 
words : 1. Agatha. 2. Roland. 3. Martha. 

Cube. From 1 to 2, marble: 2 to 6, eagles; 5 to 6, dreads; 1 to 
5, missed ; 3 to 4, nestle ; 4 to 8, Edward ; 7 to 8, wanted ; 3 to 7, 
nephew ; 1 to 3, men ; 2 to 4, eye; 6 to 8, sad ; 5 to 7, dew. 

Concealed Word-square, i. Ashes. 2. Spade. 3. Haven. 
4. Eden:?. 5. Sense. 

Pi. Joy and Temperance and Repose 
Slam the door on the Doctor's nose. 


The names of those who send solutions are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be 
addressed to St. Nicholas "Riddle-box," care of The Century Co.. 33 East Seventeenth street, New York City. 

Answers to Puzzles in the April Number were received, too late for acknowledgment in the June number, from William H. Dono- 
hoe, 1 — E. M. and L. Peart and J. Spiller, England, 5. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the May Number were received, before May 20 from Paul Reese — "The Carters" — S. R. 
T.— Arthur Gride— Maggie and May Turnll— F. W. N. and Co. —Tiny Puss, Mitz, and Muff— Bessie V. — M. M. M. — Carey 
E. Melville — "Clifford and Coco" — Willie Serrell and Friends — Jennie R. Miller — Alice and Lizzie Pendleton — Fred, Ellist, and A. 
B. S. — John True Sumner — Helen J. Sproat — Aunt Henrietta, and Lillic, Olive, and Ida Gibson — San Anselmo Valley — Francis W. 
Islip — " OZdipus." 

Answers to Puzzles in the April Number were received, before April 20, from Alice H. Robinson, 3 — Florence E.. 1 — John 
K. Ricketts, 1 — H. I. S., 10 — Jean B. G., 1 — Susie Hubbell, 3 — Sallie Viles, 11 — Amelia N. F. and Annie L. D., 3 — Louise G. 
Ilsley, 1 — Y. E., 3 — Mary L. Richardson, 9 — Lizzie Wainman, 3 — Annie W. North, 1 — Merion S. Dumont, 1 — John and Lawton 
Kendrick, 6 — " Can. Dan," 8 — " Lady Ann, ' S — Sutheby Wilby. 4 — " Delta." 2 — G. Timpson, 3 — Mamy Neuburger, 1 — Violet 
and Daisy, 9 — Frank Smyth, S — Henry P. Cofran, 1 — Daisy H. K... 3 — Cora M. Ledger, 1 — Maud E. Benson, 2 — Mamma and I, 1 
— R. O. Haubold, 1 — Daisy Burns, 4 — W. B. Read, 1 — Helena Chalmers, i — Woodbury G. Frost, 5 — Kenneth B. Emerson. 8 — 
" Poggledy," 8 — " The Trio," 3 — Effie K. Talboys, 11 — Bessie Perr.ult, 7 — Warren D. Brown, 1 — Willis S. Covell, 2 — " Locust Dale 
Folks," 9 — Bessie and Helen, 3 — "Pepper and Maria." 11 — Laura Gordon and Wm. A. Bokers, 9 — Grace Perley and Floyd Ford. 7 
— Arthur E. Hyde, 5 — " Goose," 1 — L. and S., 6 — " Papa's Pet," 2 — Sylvia, 3 — H. B. Saunders 4 — Lottie L. Smith, 1 — M.D.D., 

2 — " Chimpanzee and Marmoset," S — J. D. Haney, 2 — Helena E. Haubold, 1 — Chester and Amey Aldrich. 11 — Clara Gallup. 1 — 
Isabel Warwick, 5 — Clara M. Upton. 7 — Stella Sweet, 9 — E. Sedgwick, 2 — Edith M. Boyd, 1 — " Pupil of Johnny Duck." \ — Abbey 
A. Howe, 3 — Charles H. Kyte, 2 — K. Grigs, 3 — Anna Calkins, s — Helen Tufts. 5 — Bessie Adam, 1 — Percy A. Yarian, S — Bessie 
Butch, 10 — Florence Clark, 3 — J. A. Hoisted, 3 — Willie E. La Bar, S — Daisy. Helen, and Louise, 1 — Nellie' B. Ripley, 8 — Cora L. 
Kenyon, 2 — Genie and Meg, 8 — " Sinbad the Sailor," 7 — " Fred and Gill," 12 — Nellie and Reggie, S — Fanny and Di, 7 — M. Margaret 
and E. Muriel Grundv, 10 — " Puz," 12 — Ada M., o — Maud S., 11 — R. H., Papa and Mamma, 12 — Georgia L. Gilnmre, 11 — George 
Habenicht, 1 — Ida C. L., 11 — "Olive R. T. Wist,'" n— J. J. Nicholson, Jr., 6 — M. B. F., 12— Hallie Couch, 9—" P. K. Boo." 11 — 
E. C. C. M. and M-, 9 — Ella Ware, 7 — Herbert Gaytes, S — Sadie and Bessie Rhodes. 12 — Fanny R. Jackson, 12 — Arthur L. Kludge, 

3 — Lily and Lou, 10 — C. F. Mel, 4 — " Shumway Hen and Chickens," 10 — Mertice and Ina, 11 — B. B. Y., 12 — " Pernie." 11 — Eduh 
L. Young and Jennie L. Dupuis, 11 — Mary P. Stockett, 10 — Jennie Balch, to — C. Wolfe. 1 — M. C. Washburn, 1 — E. M. and L. 

Peart, and Edith Mason, 9 — J. B. Sheffield, 4 — Goldwin G. Goldsmith, 9, 













(SEE PACE 7=7.) 


Vol. XII. 

AUGUST, 1885. 

No. 10. 

[Copyright, 18S5. by The CENTURY CO.] 


By Rachel Carew. 

The von Lyndons wereavery "aesthetic" family. 
The Herr Baron had been wounded in the war with 
France, and had come home to Munich with a 
limp which was declared to be far more graceful 
than the ordinary gait of man, and this limp gave 
him an excuse for devoting his time to bric-a-brac 
and to his cabinets of rare old coins. He had a 
very pretty wife, who painted figures and flowers 
more or less true to nature ; and a daughter, Gisela, 
four years old, in looks a rosy little angel, but with 
the record of needed chastisements which usually 
belongs to most maidens of four years. 

In the year of grace 1884, the von Lyndons lived 
in a modern Munich house, a fine new building ; 
but, nevertheless, the astonished stranger, upon 
entering their doors, was whisked back in a trice 
to sixteenth century days, the family being lovers 
of old-time objects in furniture and equipments. 
When this same stranger again appeared in the 
street and looked at the horse-cars, telephone-wires, 
and other modern contrivances, he was apt to feel 
like a guilty ghost of the past, who, instead of fig- 
uring in this nineteenth century, ought to be turn- 
ing up stone toes in some dismal church as a 
sixteenth century carving, for travelers with guide- 
books to ponder over. 

A boy in yellow stockings, knee-breeches, and 
a long-tailed blue coat, gathered full around the 
waist, opened the von Lyndons' door to visitors. 
Recovering from their astonishment at this boy's 
appearance, they were next confronted by verita- 

ble suits of chain and plate armor, complete from 
jambes to casque, stuffed out with make-believe 
knights. On each side of the hall stood six of these 
knights with halberds in their steel-gloved hands, 
and with tattered banners hanging above their 
helmets. Huge clothes-presses, with brazen lions' 
feet, opened their heavily carved doors upon 
recesses big enough to take in the whole family. 
The inlaid floors were polished to a dangerous 
degree of brilliancy. The plate-glass in the win- 
dows had been replaced by dull little round panes 
not larger than an Albert biscuit, set in lead ; this 
darkened the rooms considerably, but, it gave them 
"such a deliriously mediaeval look!" Faded, 
moth-ventilated tapestry hung on the walls, and 
old Venetian mirrors set deep in their crystal 
frames gleamed dimly among the shadows, like 
tiny dark pools peeping up from rocky banks. 

Silver tankards, quaint o!d glassware and earth- 
enware, and broken porcelain cleverly darned, or 
riveted, with wire, comprised the table-service of 
this consistently aesthetic family. They sat in 
solid wooden chairs, time-blackened, slippery as 
glass, with rigidly straight backs ; and, to make 
these more forbidding, beasts' faces and claws 
started into rasping prominence from amid the 
other carving. These chairs had been coaxed from 
a private museum, and the price paid for them 
would have given satin-covered ease to the whole 
establishment: but anything so vulgarly modern 
as comfort was opposed to all the Baroness von 




Lyndon's ideas. If she had any furniture or orna- 
ments of a later date than the sixteenth century, 
she carefully concealed the disgraceful fact, and it 
was a great grief to her that her husband refused 
to eat saffron-cakes, lentils, and other dainties of 
the past, instead of the more prosaic but perhaps 
equally palatable modern dishes. 

With this background of dingy relics of departed 
grandeur, mother and daughter made a very win- 
some picture in their fresh young beauty and their 
aesthetic costumes carefully copied from old pict- 
ures. The Baroness wore a clinging velvet skirt 
with long-pointed bodice and puffed satin sleeves 
of a different color from the dress, peaked satin 
shoes worked with gold thread, and perched on her 
blonde braids a coquettish little cap of white velvet 
thickly embroidered with pearl beads and gold 
thread, with a point over the brow and two gold 
discs above the ears. A chatelaine of beautifully 
wrought silver, studded with rough-cut turquoises 
and carbuncles, hung around her slim waist, and 
she carried one of the feather fans with handles a 
yard long, with which patrician ladies used to rep- 
rimand their daughters in days of yore. 

At one time the Baroness gave away all her 
fashionable dresses, and began to wear her antique 
costumes in public. The result proved very un- 
satisfactory ; she attracted far more attention at 
operas and concerts than the performers, an admir- 
ing crowd always assembled to watch her in and 
out of her carriage, and at the end of a few weeks 
she sent for her French dress-maker again, reserv- 
ing her aesthetic robes for home wear only. 

Gisela was a quaint little body in a blue velvet 
skirt hanging in straight folds down to her baby 
feet, a white apron closely plaited like a fan, wide 
insertions of lace, a pink satin bodice, sleeves 
puffed at the elbow, a carved and jeweled silver 
chain around her plump neck, and a white lace cap 
fitted closely over her head, leaving a little golden 
fringe of hair peeping out across the forehead and 
on her round, white neck. 

She ate her bread-and-miik with an apostle- 
spoon, of which she had four, for her four birthdays ; 
and, like a mediaeval child, she was going to have 
the whole twelve toward her wedding outfit, if the 
stock at the antiquarian shops kept pace with her 
growing years. She danced grave minuets ; with 
one chubby finger she played a tune on a crazy- 
legged spinet ; and she could tell story after story 
about the pictures in heavy old books, studded 
with jewels and decorated with silver settings and 
clasps. Gisela's dolls were strictly sixteenth century 
in their dress and belongings ; they slept in a can- 
opied bed, and took the air on the balcony in a 
tiny white and gold coach with bunches of ostrich 
feathers on the top. 

Hugh Balbirnie lived in a cheap, shabby quar- 
ter of the city, not very far distant from the von 
Lyndons' picturesque dwelling. He too was a 
lover of art, but he worshiped her in a different 
way, working hard at painting, and succeeding 
best with children's faces and figures, for whose 
rosy prettiness he had a keen eye and warm admi- 
ration. Like many other artists, he was very poor, 
the little sum of money which came to him from 
far-away Scotland barely meeting his few needs. 
He slept on a cot in his studio, ate the coarsest, 
scantiest food, and as for his clothes, — even among 
shabby, careless artists, he was noticeably thread- 
bare and down-at-the-heel. 

He had decided talent, and was very industrious, 
but success seemed as far away as when he came 
to the strange city a year ago, and all his heart for 
further effort often failed him. Then he would 
remember his invalid sister Bessie at home, de- 
pendent on him for support when the little money 
left them by their parents was gone, and he would 
stretch a fresh canvas and hope for better luck. 

Hugh Balbirnie knew that his work was good; 
wise heads had assured him of that ; but there 
was an army of talented young fellows contend- 
ing with him for fame, and the chances for suc- 
cess in such a host is small when one has neither 
friends, money, nor influence. He hung his lovely 
child-faces in the exhibition-rooms ; and they 
were nodded at approvingly by gorgeously dressed 
mammas, sometimes noticed in the journals, and 
then forgotten. No one knew anything of Hugh 
Balbirnie, and no one bought his pictures. If he 
could but find one patron among the rich nobles 
of the art-loving city, he knew that his fortunes 
would brighten from that moment. 

He spoke very little German, and was shy and 
reticent with the other students, who left him alone 
to brood over his troubles much more than was 
good for him. He had debts, too, to torment him, 
not having paid for his last frame and a fresh lot 
of colors. As the weeks slipped away, leaving him 
as obscure and unknown as ever, he made this 
gloomy resolve. — he would sell his one valuable 
possession, a small collection of coins left him by 
his father, and send the money to Bessie. Poor 
Bessie, she would not be greatly enriched, for the 
dealers in old coins would give him a very nig- 
gardly price, and he knew no one to whom he 
might appeal for their real value. He would then 
put aside his love and talent for painting as a 
means of earning a living, would work his passage 
out to Australia, and there begin life over again as 
a common day-laborer. 

In order to give himself one more chance, he 
would finish the picture he was engaged upon at 
the time — a ragged little orange-vender. If this 

i88 5 .] 



came back unsold, then farewell to fame forever, and 
he would try to forget that for six years he had 
toiled in vain to be an artist. 

Full of such dismal thoughts, Hugh Balbirnie 
sat in his studio one bright May morning, waiting 
for his model, the little orange-girl, whom Felix, 
an acquaintance, had promised 
to send. 

It was a charmingly fresh morn- 
ing ; the trees in the park were 
out in new spring suits, and they 
turned and twisted to see them- 
selves in the lake, like any fash- 
ionable lady pluming herself 
before her mirror. Doors and 
windows were wide open every- 
where to let in bird-music and 
the sweet breath of flowers. 
Gisela von Lyndon, having few 
springs to look back upon, re- 
membered none so bewitching as 
this ; she wished to go out alone 
into the brightness, and for days 
the naughty little maiden had 
tried to escape nurse Lina's vigi- 
lant eye and slip out of the house 
without any big brown hand hold- 
ing hers. To-day the sly mouse 
managed to creep down the stairs 
and out of the big door-way un- 
noticed. She turned off the broad 
street where her father lived, 
and trotted complacently down a 
rough, rambling street which of- 
fered great attractions at its win- 
dows in the form of sugar cats and 
ginger-bread men and women 
with currant eyes. 

People turned to look after the 
strange little figure in its anti- 
quated dress, but Gisela was bliss- 
fully unconscious of anything 
unusual in her appearance. She 
returned their gaze with a friendly 
confidence in her blue eyes, and 
many a hard face grew softer in 
the warmth of her sunny smile. 
In all the motley crowd of people, busy and idle, 
good and bad, she went her way unmolested, sing- 
ing a quiet little tunc to herself. A policeman, sus- 
pecting for a moment the truth about her, — that 
she was a little runaway, whose friends would soon 
be in search of her, — took her hand for a few paces. 
But she nodded and smiled up at him so sweetly, and 
seemed so sure of her way, that he concluded some 
of the painters in the artists' quarter were going to 
put her in a picture, and so he let her go again. 

After a while, Giscla's feet in her embroidered 
satin shoes began to find the pavement very hard 
and hot, and she rather wished she might slide her 
hand into Lina's big strong fist. She was a plucky 
little midget, however, and she didn't mean to cry 
until affairs were very black indeed. Soon, at the 

end of a dark stone court, the runaway baby saw 
bright green willow branches waving above an open 
door, with a room beyond, where somebody was 
whistling "Bonny Dundee." She went in without 
ceremony and trotted over to the window, where a 
pale young man with threadbare clothes and the 
kindest brown eyes in the world sat at an easel 
cleaning his brushes. Gisela had never seen Hugh 
Balbirnie before, — for it was he, — but she knew bv 
childish intuition that in him she had found a 




friend. Little did the struggling young artist 
realize that the goddess Fortune had come to him 
in this pink-cheeked lassie who seemed to have 
wandered back from the girlhood of three centuries 
ago ! 

Gisela climbed into his lap, laid her head con- 
fidingly against his shoulder, — such a charming, 
ridiculous little head in its tight cap fringed 
around with baby curls, — and gave a comforta- 
ble sigh of relief at having found a resting-place at 

Felix found you," said Hugh ; and he began pull- 
ing his easel forward for a favorable light. 

" I shall let my orange-girl wait for a while," 
he continued to himself, " and try a study of a 
patrician baby of the sixteenth century. I wonder 
who dressed her so carefully and correctly ; her 
mother must belong to the theater. What is your 
name, little one ? " Hugh's German sufficed him 
for this last question, and the child answered : 

" Baroness Gisela von Lyndon." 



last. Hugh was used to little girls coming to his 
studio as models, but they were far less pretty than 
this one, and never so good-tempered and affec- 
tionate. A woman's eye would have seen at once 
that the dainty elegance of this child's clothing, 
the sheen of her hair, and the purity of her skin, 
were not to be found among poor people's children 
who were sent out to earn money as artists' models ; 
but Hugh Balbirnie's eyes, though tender and 
sympathetic, lacked a woman's penetration. 

"You are a decided improvement on the cab- 

1 wonder where 

" Some fellow has painted her under that name. 
A ' baroness,' indeed ! " Hugh said to himself with 
a laugh. " I shall call her a baby Princess Mary, 
or something that shall be a tribute to Scotland. 
The child is strikingly picturesque, and I believe 
I can make a success of her. I 'm very much 
obliged to Felix for sending her to me." 

The two chattered together very amicably, one 
in English, the other in a jumble of French and 
German, and neither was in the least troubled 
that they did not understand each other. 

Hugh had a collection of hideous rag dolls and 



a squirming wooden alligator for the amusement 
of his youthful models; with these delights, some 
barley-sugar sticks, ginger-cakes, and a big red 
apple, Gisela sat down contentedly on a satin 
cushion, and Hugh began to paint her with en- 
thusiastic energy. She was accustomed to sit for 
her mother's attempts at portraiture, so Hugh 
found her a docile-enough subject. Nor was she, 
like some models, inclined to criticise and com- 
ment on his work; she troubled her small head 
very little about what he was doing, and confined 
her attention exclusively to her rag family and her 

At the end of two hours, Hugh had made rapid 
strides with his picture ; he had caught the child's 
unaffected, sweet expression with marvelous ac- 
curacy, and while she took a half-hour's nap he 
made a careful study of her costume. 

When the little girl's face and attitude began to 
show signs of fatigue, Hugh unlocked his tin 
treasure-box to take out a silver piece as payment 
for the morning's sitting. He noticed that his 
stock of current coin was alarmingly low, there 
being little left in the box but his father's collec- 
tion of old pieces. His funds at that moment, as he 
discovered soon afterward, were less even than he 

He put a coin in Gisela's hand, with the injunc- 
tion to keep tight hold of it, and take it and her- 
self safely home to her mother, and to come to his 
studio at the same hour on the following day. 

Baroness Gisela von Lyndon, with her first earn- 
ings clutched close in her fat little fist, trotted 
along the street again in the direction she believed 
led toward home. But she was mistaken ; she 
wandered aimlessly about for half an hour or more, 
and then sat down on a door-step and began to 
cry. A policeman, more sharp-sighted than the 
last one, took her in his arms and carried her to 
the station-house, where lost children were cared 
for until claimed. The whole von Lyndon estab- 
lishment, from the boy with the queer coat to the 
Herr Baron, had been scouring the city for Gisela 
since early morning; so after her appearance at the 
police-station her distracted friends were notified 
without delay. 

The Baroness, in her delight at recovering her 
lost darling, as a matter of course forgot the list 
of dire punishments she had arranged for her. 

" Here, Mamma, man said this was for you," 
the child said, opening her hand, which had so 
faithfully guarded her treasure. 

" Why, Gisel, where did you get this ? " said the 
Baroness, in astonishment. " An old coin, and 
of considerable value, I imagine." 

' ' Nice man with funny alligator gave it to me, and 
he had dolls and ginger-bread with pink sugar on 

it, and I went to sleep, and there was a big tree 
outside all full of birds." 

This rather vague account was all the little runa- 
way seemed able to give of her morning's adven- 
ture, and her friends were obliged to fill in the 
gaps in her story with whatever their imagination 

" Look, Conrad, at the strange coin our naughty 
little runaway brought home with her," said her 

" It 's a hirschgulden of 1679 ! There are only 
nineteen of them extant, and I have thirteen. I 
wonder who was fool enough to give that baby 
such a prize ? A mistake, probably, and 1 don't 
see how we are going to rectify it, Giscl's story is 
so untrustworthy. If the fellow turns up, he shall 
have his coin, or the value of it. refunded to him. 
In the meantime I 'm very well pleased at this 
addition to my collection," said the Baron, un- 
locking his sixteenth century cabinet of ebony and 

A few months later, all the wealth and fashion 
of Munich were flocking to a great gallery to see the 
latest display of the new paintings. The Baroness 
von Lyndon, in mignonette satin and a Rembrandt 
hat weighed down with cream-tinted feathers, sat 
resting on a velvet sofa — perhaps not quite un- 
conscious of the fact that she herself was a pict- 
ure as charming as any in the gallery. 

" Come with me a moment, Clara. I wish your 
opinion upon something in the next room," said 
the Baron, touching her on the shoulder. 

For a minute the lady stood in speechless as- 
tonishment before the life-size painting of a little 
girl — a very pretty, winsome little girl, sitting on 
a satin cushion and ready to bury her pearly teeth in 
a big rosy apple. She wore a sixteenth century cos- 
tume, a close-fitting lace cap, blue velvet petticoat, 
pink satin bodice brocaded in gold, a wrought sil- 
ver chain round her soft, baby neck, and she had 
white satin shoes worked with gold. 

In the catalogue she was called " Princess Mary 
of Scotland " ; but she was Gisela von Lyndon, to 
the life. 

"Well, dear, what do you think?" asked the 
Baron, who keenly enjoyed his wife's amazement. 

"It is a marvelous likeness. Who can have 
painted Gisel's portrait so admirably from mem- 
ory ? It seems almost like witchcraft. Who is 
the artist ? " 

" Hugh Balbirnie is the name accompanying the 
picture. I think the mystery of the hirschgulden 
is about to be explained. If I discover that this 
artist enticed my child away for the sake of steal- 
ing a sketch of her, Mr. Hugh Balbirnie will find 
that he cannot buy my forgiveness with an antique 


[A l' GUST, 

coin. However, we will not give way to anger 
until we know the truth." 

In this case, the truth was not hidden away in the 
bottom of a well, but easy of access at Hugh Bal- 
birnie's studio, whither Baron von Lyndon betook 
himself that afternoon. Hugh's story was so 
straightforward, and his face so honest, that the 
Baron's suspicions were soon allayed, and before 
he left the studio he "was ashamed of himself for 
having cherished them. Hugh was at the same 
time troubled lest he had annoyed the von Lyn- 
dons, and glad that he was likely to recover his 
coin, which he had missed soon after his little mode! 
had taken her departure. 

" I was in a rage at that little girl for not com- 
ing to me again ; one sitting was hardly enough 
for what I wished to do. But I can understand 
now, that it was not surprising that she did not 
appear a second time," he said, with an amused 

Hugh and his visitor parted excellent friends, 
the Baron making the young artist promise to re- 
new his acquaintance with "Princess Mary " the 
next day. 

The. picture soon found its way from the exhi- 
bition walls to the von Lyndon drawing-room, and 
the Baron sent Hugh a check which seemed fabu- 
lous wealth to the poor artist. Gisela von Lyn- 
don's portrait became the talk and admiration of 
the fashionable world at Munich, and other paint- 
ings by Balbirnie, which had been passed by un- 
noticed, were now praised to the skies. 

The Baron also bought Hugh's coins, for a sum 
so generous that the young man decided to send 
for Bessie. 

And thus, thanks to Gisela, — who proved to be 
a veritable Little Dame Fortune, — friends, fame, 
and money, a goodly trio, had come to the poor 
artist, and the discouragements of the past were 
forgotten like the sufferings in a dream. 


By Helen Gray Cone. 

Who knows Hebrew? Who knows Greek? 
Who the tongue the birdies speak? 

Changeless laws the birds must heed. 
What if I should try to read ? 

Here 's a set of meanings hid 
As records on a pyramid. 

What is meant by all these freckles, 
Bluish blotches, brownish speckles? 

These are words, in cipher printed 
On each egg-shell faintly tinted ; 

On the Oriole's, scratched and scarred, 
This to trace I find not hard : 
"' Breasted bright as trumpet-flower; 
Builder of a swinging bower, 
Airiest dwelling ever seen, 
In the elm-tree's branches green 
Careless caroler, shall be 
The little bird that sleeps in me ! " 



On the Blue Jay's, greenish-gray, 
Dottings fine would seem to say : 
: Chattering braggart, crested thief. 
Jester to the woods in chief, 
Dandy gay in brilliant blue, 
Cruel glutton, coward too ; 
Screaming, gleaming rogue shall be 
The little bird that sleeps in me ! " 

On the King-bird's, creamy-hued, 
Runs this legend: "Sulky, rude, 
Tiny tyrant, winged with black, 
Big of head and gray of back ; 
Teaser of the hawk and crow, 
And of flies the deadly foe ; 
Short and sharp of note shall be 
The little bird that sleeps in me ! 

On Bob Lincoln's, browny-whitc, 
This is writ, if I read right : 
Gallant lover in the clover, 
With his gladness bubbling over; 
Waltzer, warbling liquid notes, — 
Yes. and one that hath two coats ! 
Nimble, neat, and blithe shall be 
The little bird that sleeps in me ! " 

On the Mock-bird's, bluish-green, 

In spot and blot these words are seen : 

Prince of singers, sober-clad, 

Wildly merry, wildly sad : 

Mocking all the feathered throng, 

Bettering still each bird's own song; 

Madcap masker he shall be, 

The little bird that sleeps in me ! " 





By Mrs. Frank M. Gregory. 

1 j- . -"'-% ■ , ^v;^'cte#^ , ''^; : '» 


It was on the afternoon of the very warmest 
day in August that the children came running to 
me and eagerly asked : 

" May we go and slide down-hill with the other 
children. Mamma?" 

Being very busy at the moment, I only half un- 
derstood the request they were making, and 
replied, in a very absent-minded way : 

"Yes, you may go." 

But the next question recalled my wool-gathering 
wits, and brought me to my senses suddenly. 

"Please may we have this candle-end? Harry 
says they have n't enough to go around, and Mag- 
gie will surely bring you fresh candles at dark." 

" Why — children ! " I exclaimed, "what are you 
talking about ? Sliding down-hill in August ! And 
what are you going to do with that candle ? " 

I presume my face must have expressed my ut- 
ter amazement ; for all the children began to 
laugh and shout : " What 's the matter, Mamma ? 
you look frightened." 

When the merriment had subsided, my little 
son tried to explain : 

" There are some boys and girls from the village 
out on the hill, and some from the hotel on the 
mountain, and they all have brought their sleds. 
Harry has brought his down from the attic, and he 
says he will take us down, because we have n't any 
sled. Hi wanted the candle-end." 

" Take the candle, child ; but what is Harry 
going to do with it ? " I inquired. 

" I don't know, Mamma. Come out on the bal- 
cony. Every one else is there," he cried. 

It seemed such a puzzle to me, that I rose, put 
away the letters I was attempting to answer, and 
went out to see what was going on. 

When I reached the spacious balcony, I was al- 
most convinced that the whole valley had been 

There were gathered at least twenty children 
and half a dozen sleds. The boys were dragging 
the sleds up the steep slope of the hill-side that 
rose from the road in front of the house, while 
the girls followed after as well as they could. 

It was not by any means an easy feat to climb 
this slope. 


/ J- 

Though at a casual glance it seemed as soft and 
velvety as a well-kept lawn, it was to the unwary 
a delusion and a snare. The midsummer sun 
shines down upon the Adirondack mountains with 
as much ardor as on the city streets. Though the 
nights are cool, frequently even cold, there are no 
dews, and usually but little rain. So the short 
thick grass that grows abundantly upon the sides 
of the lesser mountains, or, more properly speak- 
ing, the foot-hills, becomes somewhat parched and 
smooth, and as slippery as ice. The children, then, 
had before them quite an amount of hard walking, 
but those children were like mountain-goats, hardy, 
willing, and able to climb anything. 

I watched them with interest. At last the top 
was reached. Then, the sleds were turned upside 
down, and I discovered the mystery of the candle- 
end, for the runners were rubbed vigorously with 
candles; this completed, the sleds were put in 
proper position again, three children seated them- 
selves upon each, and a gentle push started them 
down the slope. 

How swiftly they came ! The slope was steep 
but smooth ; not a rock, stump, or stone on its 
surface ; there was no danger, and the sleds stopped 
on the sandy road. 

For two long hours this colony of children 
coasted — till the grass was worn almost to the 
roots, and the supply of tallow (which is indispen- 
sable for this midsummer coasting) was exhausted. 
They shouted themselves hoarse ; they ran and 
tugged and climbed until they were tired out. 

After all the little ones were weary, we elder 
people joined in the fun. I own to having made the 
descent but once, — that was quite enough for me. 
We read of speed that "takes the breath away," 
and of " going like the wind," and the rate at 
which that sled came down that hill-side made me 
realize what those expressions mean. 

I never before had heard of this novel amuse- 
ment ; but, startling as it seemed at first, the 
novelty soon wore away, and I became quite ac- 
customed to the sight and sounds of coasting in 





By Mary L. B. Branch. 

Three months ago he did not know 

His lessons in geography; 
Though he could spell and read quite well, 
And cipher too. he could not tell 

The least thing in topography. 

I hear him speak of Mozambique, 

Heligoland, Bavaria, 
Cashmere, Japan. Tibet, Soudan, 
Sumatra, Spain, Waldeck, Kokan, 

Khaloon, Siam, Bulgaria, — 

Schleswig-Holstein (oh ! boy of mine, 
Genius without a teacher!), 

Wales, Panama, Scinde, Bolivar, 

Jelalabad and Kandahar, 
Cabul. Deccan, Helvetia. 

But what a change! How passing strange! 

This stamp-collecting passion 
Has roused his zeal, for woe or weal, 
And lists of names he now can reel 

Off, in amazing fashion. 

And now he longs for more Hong-Kongs, 

A Rampour. a Mauritius, 
Greece, Borneo, Fernando Po, — 
And how much else no one can know; 

But be, kind fates, propitious ! 




By Frank R. Stockton. 

Third Paper, 
little pisa and great rome. 

laving Genoa behind us, 
we will now pursue our 
journey into other parts 
of Italy ; and in so doing 
we shall find that the 
various portions of this 
charming country differ 
greatly from one another. 
The reason for this vari- 
ety in manners, customs, 
and even the appearance 
of people and cities, is 
easily understood when 
we remember that the 
great towns of Italy were 
once independent powers, 
each governing, not only 
the country around it, but often holding sway over 
large territories in other parts of the world. It is 
only in late years, indeed, that all the various por- 
tions of Italy have been united into one kingdom. 

We are now going to Rome, but on the way we 
shall stop at Pisa, because every boy and girl who 
has ever studied geography will want to know if it 
is standing yet, and if there is likely to be a great 
tumble and crash while we are there. There is no 
need of mentioning what it is, for every one knows 
that there is nothing in the world so tall, which at 
the same time leans over so much. As the whale 
is the king of fishes, and the elephant the king of 
beasts, so is it the king of all things which threaten 
to fall over, and don't. 

The scenery between Genoa and Pisa is very 
beautiful, lying along that lovely coast of the 
Mediterranean called the Riviera di Levantc, but 
there are reasons why we shall not enjoy it as much 
as we would like. These reasons are eighty in 
number, and consist of tunnels, some long and 
some short, and all very unceremonious in the sud- 
denness with which they cut off a view. As soon 
as we sight a queer old stone town, or a little vil- 
lage surrounded by lemon groves, or a stretch 
of blue sea at the foot of olive-covered mountains, 
everything is instantly extinguished, and we sit in 
the dark ; then there is another view which is just 
as quickly cut off, and so this amusement goes on 

for the whole distance, which is only a little over 
a hundred miles. There is an old story, once 
told to a story-loving king, about an immense 
barn, filled to the top with wheat, and a vast 
swarm of locusts. There was a little hole in 
the roof, and first one locust went in and took a 
grain of wheat, and then another took a grain, and 
after that another one took a grain, and then 
another locust took another grain, and then the 
next locust took a grain, and so on for ever so long ; 
until the King jumped up in a passion and cried 
out : 

" Stop that story ! Take my daughter, and 
marry her, and let us hear no more of those dread- 
ful locusts." 

The tunnels on the road between Genoa and 
Pisa remind one very much of that locust story. 

If the city of Pisa had been built for the con- 
venience of visitors, it could not have been better 
planned. There are four things in the town 
that are worth coming to see, and these all are 
placed close together, in one corner, so that tour- 
ists can stop here for a few hours, see the Pisan 
wonders without the necessity of running all over 
town to find them, and then go on their way. Like 
every one else, then, we will go directly to the 
north-west corner of the city, and the first thing 
we shall see will be the great Leaning Tower of 
Pisa. Every one of us will admit, I am very sure, 
that it leans quite as much as we expected ; and 
at first the girls will not wish to stand on that side 
of it where they can look up and see the tall struc- 
ture leaning over them ; but as the tower has stood 
there for over five hundred years without falling, 
we need not be afraid of it now. You all have 
seen pictures of it, and know how it looks, with its 
many circular galleries, one above another, each 
surrounded by a row of columns. But none of us 
have any idea what a queer thing it is to ascend 
this tower until we try it. Inside, a winding 
stone staircase leads to the top, and although 
the tower is one hundred and seventy-nine feet 
high, and there are two hundred and ninety-four 
steps, young legs will not hesitate to make the 
ascent. If there is any trouble, it will be with the 
heads; but as the stair-way is inclosed on each side, 
there is no danger. The steps wind, but they also 
incline quite a good deal, so that one always feels 
a slight disposition to slip to one side. At each 
story there is a door-way, so that we can go out 
upon the open galleries. Here there is danger, if 



we are not careful. When we are on the upper 
side of the gallery, it is all very well, because the 
floor slants toward the building, and we can lean 
back and look about us quite comfortably. But 
when we go around to the lower side, we feel as if 
we were just about to slide off the smooth marble Greek and Roman columns which support the 

seven hundred years old. The front, ox facade, is 
celebrated for its beautiful columns and galleries, 
and inside there are a great many interesting 
things to see — such as old paintings, mosaics, 
and carvings, and two rows of sixty-eight ancient 

floor of the gallery, which is only a few feet wide, 
and that the whole concern would come down after 
us. Nervous people generally keep off the lower 
sides of the galleries, which have no protection 
except the pillars, and these do not stand very close 
together. This tall edifice was built for a cam- 
panile, or bell-tower, for the cathedral close by ; and 
when we reach the top, we find the great bells 
hanging in their places. One of these is an enor- 
mous fellow weighing six tons, and you will notice 
that it is not hung on the lower or overhanging 
side of the tower, but well over on the other side, 
so as not to give the building any help in toppling 
over if it should feel more inclined to do so. The 
view from the top is an extended one, showing us 
a great deal of very beautiful Italian country; but 
the main object with most 
of us for climbing to the 
belfry is to have the novel 
experience of standing on 
a lofty tower which leans 
thirteen feet from the per- 
pendicular. There is a 
railing up there, and we 
can safely look over. On 
the overhanging side we 
can see nothing below us 
but the ground. The bot- 
tom of the wall is not only 
far beneath us, but thir- 
teen feet behind us. On 
the opposite, or higher, 

side we see the pillars and galleries sloping away 
beneath us. It was on the lower side of this belfry 
that Galileo carried on some of his experiments. 
There could not be a more capital place from 
which to hang a long pendulum. Many people 
think that the inclined position of this famous 
tower is due to accident, and that the foundations 
on one side have sunk. But others believe that it 
was built in this way, and I am inclined to agree 
with them. There are quite a number of leaning 
towers in Italy, the one in Bologna being a good 
deal higher than this of Pisa, although it leans 
only four feet. They all were probably constructed 
according to a whimsical architectural fashion of 
the time, for it is not likely that of all the buildings 
these towers only should have leaned over in this 
way, and that none of them should ever have set- 
tled so much as to fall. 

The great white marble cathedral close by is 

roof, and were captured by the Pisans when they 
had a great fleet, and used to conquer other coun- 
tries and carry away spoils. But there is one 
object here which has been of as much value to 
us, and to every one else in the world, as it ever 
was to the Italians. This is a hanging bronze 
lamp, suspended by a very long chain from the 
middle of the roof. It was the swinging of this 
very lamp which gave to Galileo the idea of the 

Near the cathedral stands the famous Baptistery, 
which is a circular building with two rows of col- 
umns supporting a beautiful dome, the top of 
which is higher than the great bell-tower. The 
two most notable things inside are the wonderful 
echo, which we all shall wish to hear, and a famous 


pulpit, covered with beautiful sculptures by the 
celebrated Niccolo Pisano, or Nicholas of Pisa, as 
we should call him. 

The last one of this quartet of Pisan objects of 
interest is the Campo Santo, or cemetery. This 
is so entirely different from the one at Genoa that 
we shall take the greater interest in it from having 
seen that. The first was modern, and nearly all 
the statues were dressed in handsome clothes of 
late fashions ; but here everything is very old, the 
great square building with an open space in the 
center having been finished six hundred years ago. 
The Crusaders who went from Pisa to the Holy 
Land hoped, when they died, to be buried in Pal- 
estine. But as the Crusades failed, they could not 
make a Campo Santo there, but they brought back 
with them fifty-three ship-loads of earth from 
Mount Calvary, and this they placed in their 
cemetery of Pisa, in order that they might, after 



all, be buried in holy soil. And here they lie 
now. The inner walls of the great quadrangle, 
which is separated from the central space by open 
arches and columns, are covered with enormous 
paintings, very old and very queer, representing 
the Triumph of Death, the Last Judgment, and 
subjects of this kind, treated in the odd way which 
was the fashion among painters centuries ago. 
There are sculptures, ancient sarcophagi, and 
funeral tablets ranged along the walls, and the 
pavement on which we walk is covered with in- 
scriptions showing what persons are buried beneath 
it. Many of these people bear to us in point of 
time the same relation that we shall bear to the 
boys and girls of the twenty- fifth century. 

There is not much else to see in the city of 
Pisa. It is a quiet place, and nearly all the noise 
is made by the women, who walk about in their 
absurd shoes ; these are slippers formed of a sole, 
a very high and hard heel, and a little place into 
which to slip the toes. Every time a woman 
makes a step the whole of her foot, except the 
ends of her toes, leaves the shoe, the heel of which 
comes clanking upon the pavement. How they 
manage to keep their shoes on, as they walk about, 
I can not imagine, and the continual clinking and 
clanking of the heels on the stone pavements make 
a very lively racket. 

But there was a time when this city made a good 
deal more noise in the world than that produced by 
the shoes of its women. It was a powerful mari- 
time power ; its ships conquered the Saracens right 
and left ; it took possession of Corsica, Sardinia, 
and other Mediterranean islands, and owned a 
large portion of the Italian coast, and played a 
very important part in the Crusades. But its power 
gradually declined, and in 1406 it was actually- 
sold to the city of Florence, to which it belonged 
for a long, long time. What thing more humili- 
ating could happen to a city than to be sold — 
houses, men, women, and children — to a master 
which it did not like ! 

There are no tunnels on the road between Pisa 
and Rome; but then, on the other hand, the 
scenery is not very interesting. The railroad fol- 
lows very nearly the line of a road built by the 
Romans one hundred and nine years before the 
Christian era. It passes through the Maremme, 
or salt marshes, a vast extent of forest and swamp- 
land. It is so unhealthy in summer-time that 
it is deserted by all its inhabitants, who go off to 
the hills. 

It is a nine-hours' trip from Pisa to Rome, for 
railroad trains in Italy are very slow, and it is 
dark when we reach that great and wonderful citv. 
Not many years ago no railroad came into Rome, 
and visitors arrived in carriages and stage-coaches ; 

but now we roll into a long, glass-roofed station, 
and outside there are hotel omnibuses and car- 
riages waiting for the passengers. The ideas 
which most of us have formed of the city of Rom- 
ulus and Remus have no association with such a 
thing as a hotel omnibus ; and as we roll away 
through street after street, lighted by occasional 
lamps, we see nothing through the omnibus windows 
which reminds us at all of Julius Csesar or Cicero. 
But, as we turn a corner into a large, well-lighted 
space, we see something which we know, from 
pictures and descriptions, to belong in Rome, and 
nowhere else. It is the famous fountain of Trevi, 
built up high against the end of a palace, with its 
wide sparkling pond of water in front of it, its 
marble sea-horses with their struggling attendants, 
the great figure of Neptune sitting above all, and 
its many jets of water spouting in fountains and 
flowing in cascades. The fountain itself is not 
very ancient, but the water was conducted from a 
spring fourteen miles away to this spot by our 
friend Agrippa, who built the Pont du Gard, which 
we saw near Avignon. Now we feel that we are in 
Rome, in spite of the omnibus. 

We do not intend to see Rome according to any 
fixed plan founded on the study of history, art, or 
anything else. We shall take things as they come, 
see all we can, and enjoy the life of to-day as well 
as the ruins and the art treasures of bygone cent- 
uries. On rainy days we shall wander beneath 
good roofs in the palaces, the galleries, the churches 
of the middle ages and the present ; and in fair 
weather we shall walk among the palaces and 
temples of the Caesars, which have no roof at all. 

There are three cities to be seen in Rome : the 
Rome of to-day, the Rome of the middle ages, and 
ancient Rome, each very distinct from the others, 
and yet all, in a measure, mingled together. I 
lived for some months in a portion of the city 
where the street was broad and well paved, with 
wide sidewalks : where the houses were tall and 
new, with handsome shops in many of them; 
where street-cars ran up and down every few 
minutes, and most of the passers-by wore hats, 
coats, and dresses, just like the people to whom I 
had always been accustomed, and this street con- 
tinually reminded me of some of the new avenues 
in the upper part of New York. But if I went 
around a corner, and down a broad flight cf steps, 
I saw before me a lofty marble column, nearly a 
hundred and fifty feet high, around which winds a 
long spiral procession of more than two thousand 
sculptured warriors, with their chariots and engines 
of war, and beneath which lies buried the great 
Emperor Trajan. There is nothing about that to 
remind any one of New York. Rome possesses but 
one of these broad, wide avenues, with horse-cars 




running through it, and the greater part of the 
streets are as narrow and crooked as it was the 
fashion in mediaeval times to make them. The 
ancient streets, within the city, are only to be seen 
where excavations have been made, for the Rome 
of to-day stands on many feet of soil which has 
accumulated over the citv of the Caesars. 

these people would not encroach on the room re- 
quired for the great number of attendants, gladia- 
tors, and all sorts of persons necessary to carry on 
the games. It was built in the early part of the 
Christian era, when Rome was still a pagan city. 
The opening performance was a grand one, lasting 
one hundred days, and I suppose that every Roman, 


Nearly every one who comes to Rome wishes to 
go, as soon as possible, to the Colosseum, which is 
rightfully considered the greatest wonder of the 
city, and one of the greatest wonders of the world. 
Let us leave for a time the street-cars, the shops, 
and the life of modern Rome, and put ourselves in 
the places of the old patricians and plebeians, and 
try to get an idea of the sort of sport they used to 
have. We shall find a great part of the massive 
walls of this largest place of amusement ever built 
still standing. In fact, more than one-half of it is 
gone, but so much remains that we can scarcely un- 
derstand that this is so. The form of the monster 
building is elliptical, and one side still reaches to its 
original height of four stories, and, even in its most 
broken parts, portions of the second stories remain. 
Thus we still see just what sort of building it was. 
It contained seats for eighty-seven thousand specta- 
tors. All the inhabitants of three cities of the 
present size of Pisa could congregate here, and yet 
there would be room enough left for the people of 
nine small towns of a thousand citizens each ; and all 

man, woman, and child, came to the Colosseum on 
at least one of these days, and very many of them 
probably attended every day. The greater part of 
the entertainment consisted of gladiatorial combats, 
in which these men fought not only each other, but 
wild beasts. I do not know how many gladiators 
lost their lives during the inauguration of the new 
building, but more than five thousand wild animals 
were killed in the hundred days. At that time 
hunters were always at work in Africa and Asia 
catching wild animals for the Colosseum. Lions, 
tigers and leopards, elephants, giraffes, and, after 
a time, even rhinoceroses were brought here to be 
fought and killed. Wild animals were much more 
plentiful then than they are now, when it is a very 
expensive and difficult thing to get up even a 
small menagerie. The arena where the games 
were held was a vast smooth space, surrounded 
by the great galleries, which rose in four tiers 
above it, the top being open to the sky. This 
space was temporarily planted by one of the em- 
perors with hundreds of trees, so as to resemble a 



small forest, and into this were let loose great num- 
bers of deer, antelopes, hares, and game of that 
kind ; and then the spectators were allowed to 
go down into the arena with their bows, arrows, 
and spears, to hunt the animals. At other times, 
the whole of the arena was flooded with water so as 
to make it into a lake, upon which were launched 
ships filled with soldiers, and naval contests took 
place. The Romans had grander ideas of amuse- 
ments than any people before or since, and they 
stopped at no expense or trouble when they wished 
to organize a great show. Most of their entertain- 
ments were of a very cruel character, and we all 
know how thousands of Christian martyrs were 
sacrificed in this arena, and how thousands of 
gladiators who fought one another and wild beasts 
perished here simply to amuse the people. 

When we enter upon this open arena, we sec 
that nearly half of it has been excavated, exposing 
a great number of walls and arches, down into which 

denly shot up out of a trap-door into the open air, 
where there was always something ready for them 
to do. In other places there are inclined planes, 
up which the animals came, and iron bars, still stout 
and strong, behind which they stood glaring until it 
was time for them to come out. There were great 
entrances for the Emperor and the nobles ; and all 
around the outside there were eighty archways 
through which the people came in. Each of these 
entrances was numbered so that the people could 
easily find their way to the different portions of 
the galleries to which they had tickets. We can 
still plainly see the numbers from twenty-three to 
fifty-four. Many of the ancient staircases leading 
to the galleries yet exist, though they are very much 
worn and broken, and are not now used ; but some 
of them have been restored to very nearly their for- 
mer appearance, so that we can go up to the highest 
gallery. The poorer people sat in the topmost row, 
and long before we are up there, we shall feel sure 



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lit _- 


we can look, as into deep cellars. These extend 
under the whole of the arena, and were not only 
used as passage-ways for men and wild beasts, 
but were necessary for the working of the machin- 
ery, the trap-doors, and other contrivances used in 
the games. In some places we can see the grooves 
in which a sort of elevator was worked. The 
savage beasts were driven through a narrow alley 
into the box of this elevator, then they were sud- 
Vol. XII. — 47. 

that this class of spectators was willing to do a great 
deal of hard climbing for the sake of seeing the 
shows. The stair-ways in use among the Romans 
had very high steps, much higher than those in 
use in our day, and the restorations have been made 
as much like the old stairs as possible. Many of 
us will be surprised not to find the Colosseum a 
mass of ruins, incumbered with the rubbish and 
overgrown with vines and the moss of ages. Instead 




of this, everything is in excellent order ; the arena, 
where it has not been dug away, is smooth and 
clean, and the pieces of marble and broken columns 
are piled up neatly about the sides ; the galleries 
are all clear and open to visitors ; and there are 
railings where the parapets have been broken. 
We can fearlessly walk over all the parts that are 
left standing, and can pass through the great 
vaulted passages which extend behind the long 
tiers of seats, and then we can go out upon the 
open galleries. 

The Colosseum does not owe its present state of 
partial ruin to the ravages of time. It was built 
to stand for very many centuries. In the Middle 
Ages it was used as a fortress, and was still strong 
and in comparatively good order in the beginning 
of the fourteenth century. Then the nobles of 
Rome began to tear it down and to use it as build- 
ing material for their palaces. Some of the finest 
edifices in the city are built with stones taken from 
the poor old Colosseum, to which people came for 
building material, just as if it had been a stone 
quarry. This went on until 1740, when Pope 
Benedict XIV put a stop to it ; and since then 
successive popes have taken a great deal of care 
of the famous ruins, putting up immense buttresses 
of brick-work, whenever it was necessary, to sup- 
port the broken parts of the walls. Fortunately, 
the greater part of the demolition has been done 
on one side, but nearly all the marble with which 
the stone-work was faced is gone. 

We have much greater privileges, as we ramble 
about, than the Roman populace ever had. We can, 
if we like, go down into the passages and curious 
places under the buildings, where the old-time spec- 
tators were not allowed to go ; we can walk around 
the first gallery, which was occupied by the senators 
and people of high degree ; and we can even enter 
the place of the Emperor's box, which certainly no 
Roman plebeians occupied. This is at one end 
of the great oval, and commands a fine view of the 
open space. The galleries were arranged so that 
every one could see very well ; but the fighting 
men and animals must have seemed very small to 
the people on the topmost rows. As we wander 
about the lonely galleries and passages, we see 
many things that seem to bring the days of pagan 
Rome very near to us. Here are some loose bricks, 
larger and thinner than ours, and of a yellowish 
color ; they look almost as good as new, and on 
one side are stamped the initials of the maker, as 
clean and sharp as if they had been made yester- 
day ; here are great square holes down which the 
dust used to be swept after the performances were 
over ; and here are many channels and openings 
ingeniously arranged to carry off the rain-water ; 
all of which have a very recent look. On the 

lower floor we go through the door-ways which 
lead into the arena and tread upon marble slabs 
worn by the feet of generations of gladiators, as well 
as of Christians and other prisoners, who stepped 
out here for their last fight. Under the Em- 
peror's box is a passage made for the entrance of 
the elephants, and it is interesting to see the great 
beams which supported this floor : these are each 
formed of enormous stones, not fastened together 
in any way, but supporting each other by their 
wedge-like shape, and extending across the space 
in a horizontal beam, which five Jumbos, joined 
in one, could not break down. 

Among the most interesting relics of Roman 
handiwork to be found here are the iron bars, as 
large as the rails on our railroads, and fifteen or 
twenty feet long, with which the immense stones in 
the lower part of the building were bound together. 
These are not old and rusty, but in good condi- 
tion, with the spikes which held the ends together 
still firmly wedged in where they were driven 
eighteen hundred years ago, and the marks of the 
hammers plainly to be seen on the edges of the 
tough iron. All around the outside of the walls 
we see numerous holes ; these are the places from 
which many of these iron rods were taken out 
in the Middle Ages, when iron, especially such 
good wrought iron as this, was in great demand. 

But we must not spend too much time in this 
grand old place, because, interesting as it is, 
there is so much more for us to see. Nearly all 
visitors come to see the Colosseum by moonlight, 
if there happens to be a full moon while they are 
in Rome, and we may do the same if we are 
careful ; but we must remember the fate of Daisy 
Miller, in Mr. Henry James's story, and the fate 
of a great many other young people who are not 
in stories. Rome, especially the ruined parts of 
it, is very unhealthy after night-fall. 

Rome is still surrounded by the great wall built 
by the Emperor Aurclian, sixteen hundred years 
ago. It is fourteen miles long, fifty-five feet high, 
and there are now twelve gates in it. The present 
city is a large one, containing about two hundred 
and fifty thousand people, but it is not the great 
city it used to be. About two-thirds of the space 
inclosed by the walls is now covered by gardens, 
vineyards, and the ruins of the temples, palaces, 
and other grand edifices of ancient Rome. The 
river Tiber runs through the city, and is crossed 
by seven bridges. 

One of the most lively parts of Rome is the 
Piazza di Spagna, which is a large open space, 
situated in what is called the Stranger's Quarter, 
because near it are many of the hotels frequented 
by visitors. Streets lined with shops lead into this 
piazza ; the middle of the space is crowded with 

i88 S .; 



carriages for hire (sixteen cents for a single drive 
for two persons) ; and on one side rises the famous 
Spanish Stairs. This is a series of one hundred 
and twenty-five stone steps, wide enough at the 
bottom for sixty or seventy boys and girls to go up 
abreast, and separating gracefully to the right and 
left at several platforms. These lead 
up to the celebrated Pincian Hill, 
and at the top of the stairs is the 
picturesque church of Trinita de 
Monti. On bright afternoons a lot 
of very queer people, who look as 
if they had been taken out of pict- 
ures, are to be seen sitting and stand- 
ing on the steps of this great stair- 
case. Many of them are children, 
and some are very old people. The 
boys wear bright-colored jackets, 
knee-breeches, and long stockings, 
and shoes made, each, of a square 
piece of sheep-skin, with holes in the 
edges by which it is laced to the foot 
by long colored strings which are 
crossed many times around the ankles ; 
they wear very wide hats with peaked 
crowns, and often little colored waist- 
coats. The girls wear shoes like the 
boys, bright-colored skirts and bod- 
ices, gay striped aprons, and a head- 
dress composed of a flat, wide strip 
of white cloth covering the top of 
the head, and hanging far down be- 
hind. The women are dressed very 
much the same way in red, blue, 
yellow, and white. The men, some 
of whom have splendid white beards, 
are very fond of long cloaks with 
green linings, feathers in their hats, 
and bright sashes ; and many of them 
wear sheep-skin breeches, with the 
wool outside. These people have not 
come out of pictures, but they all wish 
to go into them. They are artists' 
models, and sit here waiting for some 
painter to come along and take them 
to his studio, where he may put them 
and their fanciful costume into a pict- 
ure. They are often very handsome, 
but they look better at a distance 
than when we are near them, for they are gener- 
ally not quite as clean as a fresh-blown rose ; but 
scattered over the Spanish Stairs in the bright sun- 
light, they make a very pleasing picture. The 
children occupy their spare time in selling flowers, 
and some of the little girls will never leave you 
until you have bought a tiny bunch of pansies or 
violets, which you can have for almost anything 

you choose to give for it. If we arc fortunate, we 
may see a company of these models dancing on 
one of the broad platforms of the stairs. One of 
them plays a tambourine, and the others dance 
gayly to its lively taps ; sometimes a boy and girl 
slip in among the others, and these two look pret- 




tier than all the others, although they run great 
risk of being crushed by their larger companions. 
There are many artists in Rome, because there 
is so very much here that is worth painting; and 
consequently there is a class of persons who do 
nothing else but sit or stand as models. 

Many of these long stair-ways are to be found in 
the streets of Rome, for the city is built upon hills, 




as we all know, and these flights of steps make 
short cuts for foot-passengers, while vehicles have 
often to go a long way around. 

From the top of the Pincian Hill, a portion of 
which is laid out as a pleasure-ground, we have a 
view of a large part of the city, and, far off in the 
distance, we see a great dome rising against the 
sky. This is the dome of St. Peter's, the largest 
church in the world ; and now we will go down into 
the piazza, take a carriage, and ride there. Most 
of us have seen pictures of the church, and are not 
surprised at the magnificent square in front of it, 
and the great pile of buildings on one side, called 
the Vatican, where the Pope lives. This palace 
contains eleven thousand halls and apartments, 
and there is a great deal in it that we must see, 
but we will go there some other time. I think 
that most of us will find the interior of St. Peter's 
even larger than we expected ; and, indeed, it 
is so vast that it takes some time to understand 
how big it is. The great central space, or nave, is 
large enough for a public square or parade ground, 
while in the aisles on each side of it, in the various 
chapels, in the transepts, and in the choir or 
chancel, there is room enough for seven or eight 
ordinary city congregations to assemble without 
interfering with one another. There are pictures 
and statues, grand altars, gorgeous marbles, and 
a vast expanse of mosaic work in the dome and 
other places. But, after we have seen all these, 
the size of the church will still remain its most in- 
teresting feature. The interior is so big that it 
has an atmosphere of its own and at all seasons 
the temperature remains about the same. If you 
enter the church in the summer-time, you will find 
it pleasantly cool ; and if you come in the winter- 
time it will be warm and comfortable. As a rule, 
the churches of Italy are cold and damp at all 
times, but this is not the case with St. Peter's. In 
regard to its permanent temperature, it resembles 
the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky. It ought to be 
a large church, for it took one hundred and 
seventy-six years to build it; and, although in that 
period the workmen took one good rest of fifty 
years, the building went on quite steadily the rest 
of the time. 

An excellent way to get an idea of the size of St. 
Peter's is to walk around the outside of the church. 
The entrances to some of the great art galleries 
of the Vatican are only to be reached by going 
around the back of St. Peter's, and as the cabmen 
of Rome do not like to drive around there, our 
drivers will probably put us down at the front of 
the church if they think we do not know any 
better, and tell us they can not go any further, 
and that all we have to do is to just step around 
the building and we shall easilv find the doors of 

the gallery. But if we do this we shall step, and 
step, and step, under archways and through court- 
yards, and over an open square, and along a street, 
all the time walking upon small rough paving- 
stones, until we think there is no end to the cir- 
cumference of St. Peter's. It is like walking 
around a good-sized village ; and the next time we 
come, we will make the drivers take us all the way 
to the door of the galleries or they shall go with- 
out their fares. 

If we happen to be at the church on Thursday 
morning, when the public is allowed to ascend to the 
roof and dome (or, if we have a written permission, 
any day will do), we will all make this ascent. A 
long series of very easy steps takes us to the roof, 
which is of great extent, and has on it small domes, 
and also houses in which workmen and other per- 
sons employed in the church have their homes. 
Above this roof the great dome rises to the im- 
mense height of three hundred and eight feet. 
Around the outside of it we see strong iron bands 
which were put there a hundred years ago, when 
it was feared that the dome might be cracked by 
its own enormous weight. There is an inner and 
an outer dome, and, between these, winding gal- 
leries and staircases, very hard on the legs, lead to 
the top, which is called the Lantern, where we can 
go out on the gallery and have a fine view of the 
country all around. Those of you who choose can 
go up some very narrow iron steps, only wide 
enough for one person at a time, and enter the 
hollow copper ball at the very top of everything. 
When we look at this ball from the ground it 
seems about the size of a big foot-ball, but it is 
large enough to hold sixteen persons at once. On 
our way down, before we reach the roof, we will 
step upon an inside gallery and look down into the 
church ; and, as we see the little mites of people 
walking about on the marble floor so far beneath 
us, we may begin to wonder — that is to say, some 
of us — if those iron bands around the outside of 
the dome are really very strong ; for if they should 

give way while we are up there But, no 

matter, we will go down now. 

In returning from St. Peter's, we pass an immense 
round building, like a fortress, which is now called 
the Castle of San Angelo, but was originally known 
as Hadrian's tomb. It was built by the Emperor 
Hadrian in the second century as a burial-place for 
himself and his successors. It is now used by the 
Italian government as a barracks and military 
prison. For hundreds of years it was occupied as 
a fortress. An old soldier will take us about and 
show us everything. But, just as we are about to 
start on our rounds, we are obliged to wait while a 
large bodv of soldiers march out ; platoon after 
platoon, knapsack and gun on shoulder, they 



march by, tramp, tramp, until we arc tired of see- 
ing them. At last they all are out, and then we 
go through the great building, with its many 
courts, staircases, and rooms. In the very center 
is the stone cell which was Hadrian's tomb. But 
he is not there now ; long ago his body and his 
sarcophagus were removed, and the place for nine 
hundred years has been the abode of the living, and 

not of the dead. What was built for a pagan tomb 
has been used for a citadel by every power which 
has since ruled Rome. When it was a tomb, the 
outside was covered with marble and statuary ; 
now, it is only a tower of brick. 

Here we must stop, for it will not do to tire our- 
selves, but in the next paper we shall continue our 
sight-seeing in Rome. 





By Laura E. Richards. 

" Where are you going, Miss Sophia ? " asked 
Letty, leaning over the gate. 

" I am going to walk," answered Miss Sophia. 
" Would you like to come with me, Letty ? " 

" Oh, yes ! " cried Letty. "I should like to go 
very much indeed ! Only wait, please, while I 
get my bonnet ! " And Letty danced into the 
house and danced out again with her brown poke 
bonnet over her sunny hair. " Here I am, Miss 
Sophia ! " she cried. " Now, where shall we go ?" 

"Down the lane," said Miss Sophia; "and 
through the orchard into the fieids. Perhaps we 
may find some wild strawberries ! " 

So away they went, the young lady walking de- 
murely along, while the little girl frolicked and 
skipped about, now in front, now behind. It was 
very pretty in the green lane ; the ferns were so 

soft and plumy, and the moss so firm and springy 
under their feet. The trees bent down and talked 
to the ferns, and told them stories about the birds 
that were building in their branches ; and the ferns 
had stories, too, about the black velvet mole who 
lived under their roots, and who had a star on the 
end of his nose. 

But Letty and Miss Sophia did not hear all 
this ; they only heard a soft whispering, and never 
thought what it meant. 

Presently they came out of the lane, and passed 
through the orchard, and then came out into the 
broad, sunny meadow. 

"Now, Letty," said Miss Sophia, "use your 
bright eyes and see if you can find any straw- 
berries. I shall sit under a tree and rest a little." 

Away danced Letty, and soon she was peeping 



and peering under every leaf and grass-blade ; but 
no gleam of scarlet, no pretty clusters of red and 
white could she see. Evidently it was not a straw- 
berry meadow. She came back to the tree, and 
said : 

"There are no strawberries at all, Miss Sophia, 
not even one. But I have found something else ; 
would n't you like to see it ? — something very 

" What is it, dear? " asked Miss Sophia. " A 
flower? I should like to see it, certainly." 

"No, it is n't a flower," said Letty ; "it's a 

" WHAT ? " cried Miss Sophia, springing to her 

" A cow ! " said Letty. " A pretty spotted 
cow. She 's coming after me, I think." 

Miss Sophia looked in the direction in which 
Letty pointed, and there, to be sure, was a cow, 
moving slowly toward them. She gave a shriek 
of terror; then, controlling herself, she threw her 
arms around Letty. 

"Be calm, my child !" she said; "I will save 


! Be calm ! 

" Why, what is the matter, Miss Sophia?" cried 
Letty, in alarm. 

Miss Sophia's face was very pale, and she trem- 
bled ; but she seized Letty's arm and bade her 
walk as fast as she could. 

" If we should run," she said, in a quivering 

voice, " it would run after us, and then we could 
not possibly escape. Walk fast, my child ! Don't 
scream ! Try to keep calm ! " 

"Why, Miss Sophia!" cried the astonished 
child. " You don't think I 'm afraid of that cow, 
do you ? Why, it 's " 

" Hush ! hush ! " whispered Miss Sophia, drag- 
ging her along. "You will only enrage the cow 
by speaking loud. I will save you, dear, if I 
can ! See, we are getting near the fence. Can't 
you walk a little faster? " 

" Moo-oo-ooo ! " said the cow, which was now 
following them at a quicker pace. 

" Oh ! Oh ! " cried Miss Sophia. "I shall faint ! 
I know I shall ! Letty, don't faint, too, dear ! Let 
one of us escape. Courage, child ! Be calm ! Oh ! 
there is the fence. Run, now — run, for your 
life ! " 

The next minute they both were over the fence. 
Letty stood panting, with eyes and mouth wide 
open ; but Miss Sophia clasped her in her arms, 
and burst into tears. 

" Safe !" she sobbed. " My dear, brave child ! 
we are safe ! " 

" Yes, I suppose we are safe," said the bewil- 
dered Letty. " But what was the matter? it was 
Uncle George's cow, and she was coming home to 
be milked !" 

" Moo-oo-ooo !" said Uncle George's cow, look- 
ing over the fence. 


By A. R. Wells. 

On the shore of an island far away, 
Stood a spirited youth, one summer day, 
And thus he moaned to the moaning sea : 

Ah, sad is the fate that falls to me ! 

The cruel waves that around me roar, 

They bind me down to this petty shore. 

Oh, were I once on the other side, 

I 'd seek the lion, and tame his pride! 

And after the royal beast was slain. 

As King of the Beasts, in his place. I 'd reign ! 

Ah, sad is our lot when a cruel fate 
Represses and chains the brave and great ! " 




By William M. Baker. 


Chapter V. 


For weeks and months, affairs at the ranch on 
the Lampasas pursued the even tenor of their 
way, until, as Bessie declared one morning, it 
seemed as if they had always lived there ; and she 
added: "If only Waldo and Uncle Cyrus were 
with us, I should not care if we never lived any- 
where else for ever and ever ! " 

" What I like best," said Hessic, " is to go to 
bed so early as to be able to rise before the sun 
does. There never was anything, I am sure, so 
perfectly lovely as the breaking of the morning 
upon those green hills and these sea-like plains ! " 

But before even Hessie or Bessie were up of a 
morning, Old Jock was astir, and with his faithful 
collies, Scotty and Laddie, was far away with his 
flock upon the dewy hill-slopes. At noon the 
sheep would seek of themselves the shade of the 
live-oaks ; and Jock, leaning against a broad tree- 
trunk, would drift into a waking dream of "bonnie 

Scotland," while his dogs kept zealous watch and 
noted every prairie-hen, or prairie dog even, that 
dared to show itself. Long ago the rabbits had 
learned that they had nothing to fear from Laddie 
and Scotty. The dogs would prick up their ears at 
sight of these long-eared visitors, but would never 
stir — as if to say, " Oh, we could catch you, but 
we 've no time to waste on such ninnies as you ; 
our business is — sheep." 

Toward four o'clock, the flock would be up and 
grazing again, nibbling away as if for dear life, in 
that hurried way of eating, peculiar to sheep. As 
night drew on, Old Jock trudged slowly in advance, 
the sheep following, the dogs in the rear or upon 
either flank, until home was reached and the flock 
was folded in for the night. There are scarcely 
any wolves in Texas, the miserable coyotes not 
being even worthy the name ; and only an occa- 
sional eagle would pounce down from the blue sky 
upon some wandering lamb. So k\v were the foes 
of the flock, that its care was seemingly the easiest 
of tasks. 

Ruthven was always busy. He, too, gave all 



his energy to the mainstay of the ranch — sheep. 
Every day seemed to bring him some new duty. 
He paid a Mexican herder fifteen dollars a month 
to look after a little •' bunch" of mares and colts 
he had out on the prairies. But he had to 
look sharply after the Mexican. Other people's 
"brands" would become tangled among his cows 
and calves, and an unbranded colt or calf was 
very sure to be branded by unscrupulous neigh- 
bors ; while to keep the run of the colts and calves 
was almost like counting the fish in the sea, so 
vast were the grazing-grounds. Ruthven had al- 
most to live in his saddle, sleeping on the grass 
and in the open air night after night. 

" But I am always ready for that," he would re- 
assure his mother. " I always carry my coffee- 
pot along, and a little ham and bacon. If 1 am 
caught too far away to hope to get home, I jump 

oatmeal all their mceserable lives. Eat, sleep, 
gamble, lie, steal — that 's a' they can do. Hech, 
raon, gie me Scotland ! If 1 can contreeve to slip 
awa' from that puir beastie o' a Don Quixote, 1 '11 
tak' the neist ship for Glasgow. Texas is na' the 
land for me. It 's a' sun, till one's vera banes an' 
marrow are melted in it." 

But Jock was to have a new experience. One 
beautiful December day, he had gone further north 
with his flock than was his custom. The sky was 
cloudless. No wind was stirring. So sultry was 
it that the sheep lay down earlier than usual, and 
Jock dropped off into a sound nap after his noon- 
day lunch. Suddenly he was wakened by his dogs, 
which, without a command, had brought the sheep 
to their feet, and were running about, endeavor- 
ing to herd them homeward. Jock was enraged. 

"That 's the one evil o' the collies," he said: 

^^"^>A \Co\ v> 


down from my horse near some timber or water, 
stake the horse, boil a cup of coffee, broil a little 
bacon, lie down with my head on my saddle, my 
hat over my eyes, and sleep till the sun wakes me 

Old Jock still grumbled away at Texas weather 
and people. 

"Look at the puir Mexicans! " he exclaimed, 
in much contempt. " What are they guid for but 
to eat red pepper and corn-cake, ne'er hearin' o' 

" they ivull bunch the sheep too much. Come in. 
ye fules ! " he cried to the dogs. 

As he did so, he observed a small line of dark- 
ness upon the northern sky. A flock of wild geese 
went flying southward over his head, with warning 
calls. A second flock followed ; a herd of cattle 
rushed past ; and then a cabattada, or drove of 
horses, tails in air, galloped toward the shelter of 
a southerly ravine. 

Now, Jock had spent but one winter in Texas, 

74 6 



and that had been a remarkably mild one. Think- 
ing only of an early return to Scotland, he had paid 
but little attention to instructions concerning a land 
he so despised. But he knew that cows, dogs, 
horses, every animal except sheep, were, in their 
way, wiser than men. The dark band upon the 
northern horizon grew still broader and darker; 
the lightning flashed out of it again and again, and 
from before it came an increasing roar, as from an 
advancing army. The air was very still, but grow- 
ing cooler and cooler, as the sky grew darker and 

Jock grew uneasy at these new phases of Texas 
weather. Encouraging the dogs, he now set his 
face homeward, followed by the flock. 

ing storm and spurred his mustang home. The 
storm was upon the Lampasas when he reached 
there, and Jock and the sheep were not yet in. 
Ruthven at once summoned Japero, the Mexican, 
saddled a fresh horse, begged his mother to keep 
a bright light in her window to the northward, 
and galloped out into the blackness. 

The norther was at its height. 

"It will kill those Spanish sheep ! " said Ruth- 
ven again and again. " So old a man as Jock ought 
to have known that something was wrong. If we 
but escape loss this time " 

A sound broke in on his new, resolutions, — the 
bark of a dog. Greatly relieved, Ruthven reined 
in his mustang, and, though unable to see anything 



" Hech, sirs ! " he exclaimed ; " eh, my luckie ! 
Who 'd 'a' thocht it ? And this is the ' norther ' 
they ' ve been din — din — dinnin' in ma ears. Ye '11 
be sune ower. Fast cauld, fast het ; I ken ye ! 
Tak' it out in howlin', will ye ? Maist meeserable 
land ! wi' naithin' steady aboot ye, save the sun 
and the weeckedness of the folk ! " 

Suddenly, with a dense darkness of rain and 
sleet, and roaring wind, the norther burst upon 
him with full force. It was midwinter striking mid- 
summer. At last Jock lost all idea of direction, 
and had to trust wholly to the instinct of his dogs. 

Ruthven, riding back from Austin, where im- 
portant business had taken him, saw the approach- 



in the tempest, he could hear the sheep huddling 
past him. 

Yelling to Jock that he was there, Ruthven 
shouted to Japero to go to the left of the flock 
while he hurried off to the right. The dogs 
a sharp bark of confidence, as if to say : 

" Follow us, master ! We 're all right ! 
know the road, if you don't." 

The cold, the sleet, the rushing of the wind, the 
torrent-like downfall of the rain increased at every 
step. The midnight darkness was like a stone 
wall about them. Ruthven feared lest Jock should 
drop behind and get lost. But the old man's blood 
was up. Except that the storms did not come quite 



so suddenly and violently, this weather was more 
like Scotland than anything Jock had yet expe- 
rienced. He almost enjoyed it. 

At last, after it seemed to Ruthven as if they 
had been going for ages through the thick dark- 
ness, and when he had begun to fear that they 
might be on the wrong track, he saw lights twink- 
ling through the storm. The dogs barked joy- 
fully. The sheep seemed to understand, and moved 
more rapidly. Soon came the shelter, first of the 
timber, then of the houses, and last of the fold, 
and Ruthven uttered a fervent " Thank Heaven ! " 
when the greatest danger was over. 

But now the sheep needed instant care. For 
hours Ruthven, Jock, and Japero were working 
over them. Old Don Quixote seemed double his 
size, so caked was he with ice and sleet. He hung 
his head and was evidently tired as well as chilled. 

Jock was in his element now, dosing his flock 
with warm mixtures, rubbing them down, feeding 
them with oil-cake. A few logs rolled to the 
windward of the fold, and far enough away to 
avoid danger, were set on fire, and the hot smoke 
and cheerful light helped to make an island of 
comfort in the tempest which roared around it. 

Hessie groped her way through the storm with re- 
freshment for the three workers, — an enormous pot 
of hot coffee and bread and meat, — and her cheery 
presence and lively ways came like sunshine 
through the gloom and blackness of the tempest. 

It is doubtful if old Jock slept at all that night. 
When he went out at day-break next morning, the 
storm was still raging. But the old man's joy was 
complete — now that his flock was safe — when, 
on the fourth morning, he found all the world 
deep in snow, with a moist wind blowing from the 

'"Old Jock thinks that Texas has changed to 
Scotland," said Hessie. 

After these three days of storm came three days 
of southerly wind, and at last Bessie said : 

" Here is Texas back once more ! " 

The sun was shining in a cloudless sky, the 
prairies rolling off to the horizon all the greener 
for their drenching, the air almost as balmy as in 

Jock had little to say, but everybody noticed 
that he did not, after this experience with a 
norther, go so far away from the ranch as before, 
and he had a trick of listening for the passage of 
wild geese, and of glancing now and then toward 
the north. 

" Yes, I vvull gang hame," he said. " No sic a 
country for me ! Weenter at its wust wan day ; 
summer at its hettest the neist. What day did you 
say the neist ship sails frae Galveston for Scotland, 
Meester Ruthven ? It was gude for us the sheep 

did na perish. But it 's na any mair northers I 
want. Nor what ye ca' blizzards, either. Blizzards! 
Wha iver heerd sic a word outside o' Texas? 
Maist meeserable country of a' iver made ! What 
did ye say war the name o' the ship ? Wednesday 
neist, war it ? You and Japero must learn a' ye 
can aboot the sheep. I mun gang back hame." 

Chapter VI. 


And while northers and sheep-farming were 
taxing all the time and attention of the ranchers 
on the Lampasas, away to the north-west the two 
wanderers from home were living among the mar- 
vels of that wonder-land of the world — the Sier- 
ras of Arizona. 

The whole country is much like what astrono- 
mers tell us the moon must be — a wild region of 
barren plains, upon which it would seem as if no 
drop of rain had ever fallen or ever could fall ; 
an expanse of coarse, burned-up sage-brush ; the 
earth cracked with long baking ; volcanic bowld- 
ers scattered about. These are the plains ; but 
here, there, everywhere, run ranges of ragged 
rocks rolling up into irregular hills, crags, cliffs, 
mountains, and towering peaks topped with snow. 
There could be no more striking contrast than is 
all this to the verdant prairies and soft slopes of 
the Lampasas. 

Uncle Cyrus had been searching for metal among 
the mountain ranges for weeks before Waldo joined 
him. When Waldo reached Arizona, the uncle 
and nephew struck off for themselves, and through 
several weary months had been trying, map in 
hand, to trace out the trail given to old Jock by 
Hungry Wolf. 

Not that they did not find a hundred indications 
of precious metal. 

"The whole country is chock-full of it," said 
Waldo; " but what good does that do us? We 
have n't the cash to develop it — to put up stamp- 
ing-mills, smelting-furnaces, irrigating-works, or 
to sink shafts. It 's the old story of the Ancient 
Mariner over again, 

1 Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink,' 

only in this case the ocean is the desert. Never 
does a man so really die for want of money as in 
this horrible land, which is full of it." 

" And yet think what luck some people have 
had here!" said LIncle Cyrus. "Not ten miles 
from where we are at this minute, Don Rodrigo 
Gaudera, in the old Spanish days, found a solid 
lump of " virgin ' silver that weighed two thou- 

74 s 



sand eight hundred pounds and was worth half a 
million dollars." 

" But that was away back in 1683, Uncle," said 
Waldo, who was well up in the history of the 

of those miners at ' Tremendous Good Luck,' as 
they called their claim. What did they do but come 
upon a saddle-back plateau among the mount- 
ains where silver lay about loose in lumps, and so 
near the surface that 


country; "and little enough good did his 'find' 
do the old Don, for the King of Spain coolly 
pocketed the lump, under the claim that all won- 
derful curiosities belonged to the crown." 

"Well, come down to nowadays, then," said 
V ncle Cyrus. " Don't you remember the bonanza 

they could grub them 
out with their hands or 
their bowie-knives as if 
they were potatoes. But 
all the same, Waldo, I 
wish I had n't led you 
away from the Lampasas 
on this regular wild- 
goose chase after silver. " 
" Oh, we must n't 
give up yet, Uncle," said 
the boy; " not a bit of 
it ! We '11 find Hungry 
Wolf's silver yet, even if 
we have had a terrible 
time in trying to find it." 
It had been a terrible 
time, indeed. The mere 
work of climbing over 
rocks, trudging across 
cinder plains, and delv- 
ing desperately whenever 
there were prosperous signs, 
working as day-laborers at 
the great mining-works when 
their money gave out, until 
they could earn enough to push 
on again, — these had been the 
easiest part of it all. Cut off from 
all society, without a book, a church, or 
a Sunday rest since leaving the Lam- 
pasas ; living in a perpetual fever of 
excitement, their life had been a thor- 
oughly demoralized, unwholesome, and 
wearily unsettled one. Fifty times Waldo 
had been on the point of urging his 
uncle to give up and go home. But then 
he would say to himself: "We would 
come, and it would be like death to me to sneak 
back in rags, without even a silver sixpence to 
show for our work, or to take back to the girls — 
no, I can't do that — not now, at least. We may 
find Hungry Wolf's bonanza yet, but I wish we 
had never stumbled upon him." 

And, as Uncle Cyrus said, the time had not 
been entirely lost. Waldo had vastly enlarged his 
knowledge of nature — the plants and animals of 
this wonderful district, the savage tribes that wan- 
der over it, and the remains of past civilizations — 
Spanish, Aztec, and even earlier dwellers and 
builders. Once he had narrowly escaped the 
clutch of a cinnamon bear, and once he had 



caught a glimpse of a cougar, or California lion. He had visited the Zunis in their own towns, and 
learned to like the kindly-faced and rapidly decreasing Navajos. But his greatest interest had been 
in the tribes of which he had heard that, making their villages in the depths of vast canons, thousands 
of feet deep and many miles long, they had never as yet seen, or been seen by, a white man. 

" I am writing this," he said, in one of his frequent home letters, "in the grand old cathedral of 
St. Xavier del Bee, ten miles south of Tucson. Here is a church one hundred and fifteen feet long by 
seventy broad, and built of stone and brick over a hundred years ago, full of beautiful statues and 
magnificent paintings, grandly gilded and 


dropped down here in this howling wil- 
derness. It makes one feel almost as queer- 
ly as when among the ruins of the cities 
that had perished from the knowledge of 
men before Cortez came." 

"All of which is very interesting," Ruthven 
had remarked at the time; " but that is not the 
silver Uncle Cyrus was to find for us. Thus far their 

ilthough they 
no new expe- 

trip has evidently been a dead failure - 

do not say so, of course. But theirs is 

rience. Of the hundreds of thousands that have gone on 

the same errand since the first gold fever of 1849, not one 

in ten thousand has done more than make his escape - 

poorer and a wiser man." 

And so the search for Hungry Wolf's treasure went on. 
Dispirited, but still hopeful, the two wanderers had pushed on 
until, almost destitute of everything, ragged and weary from 
months of hard labor and unavailing search, — they had pene- 
trated to the wildest part of the Cerbat range of the great Sier- 
ras. They had seen the lakes whose shores are crusted salt, the lime- 
stone cliffs carved by centuries of tempests into arches and minarets, 
domes and towers ; they had crossed the region of the hot springs, 
had camped for a night in the jasper forest of petrified trees, and had 
gazed upon, perhaps, the noblest sight of all, where, high above them, 
the peak of Alount San Francisco towered thirteen thousand feet in'air. 

But now they had arrived almost at the end of their patience, their 
pluck, and their resources. 

" If this last clew fails," Uncle Cyrus said, as they sat down one day 
in the heart of the Cerbat hills, " we '11 give it up, Waldo, and go back to 
the ranch, or to the silver-mills. But now, see here," and he pulled out 
the worn and tattered map which had been based upon what the Apache had 
told Jock. "I have worked out this puzzle up to this point" — laying his 
finger on a certain spot on the map, — " and I am satisfied that yonder is the 
tunnel-like entrance to Hungry Wolf's canon. It is so deep, so long, so nar- 
row, so dark, so winding, I doubt if mortal man has ever explored it. No 
white man has, I am certain. As they say in " hide and seek,' I am sure 
that this time we 're 'hot.' Who knows but we may come upon one of those 
hidden Indian nations we have heard of ; perhaps upon Hungry Wolf's bonanza itself ? 
Waldo ! It 's now or never ! Look closely to your steps, and have your revolver ready ! " 

They both were on their feet now, and nearing the great black mouth of the mysterious canon. 

" All right, Uncle ; go ahead ! " said Waldo. " I 'm with you to the last." 

The manifold needs he had for money crowded upon the lad's mind as he strode on after his rotund 
uncle — a complete freedom from all indebtedness for the family ; a thorough education for Ruthven, 
his sisters, and himself; a whole flock of the very best imported stock for Ruthven and Uncle Cyrus, 
if they fancied having the best ranch in the State ; above all, a comfortable home and entire freedom 
from all anxiety for his mother as long as she lived. 

" Go ahead, Uncle Cyrus ! " he shouted again, and still more cheerily, " I 'm sure we shall find — 
something ! " 

(To be continued.) 


Come along. 




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i88 5 .] 


75 1 

By E. P. Roe. 

Chapter VII. 


JUNIOR had good reason for bringing Merton to 
a sudden halt in his impetuous and hostile advance. 
The man coming up the lane, with a savage dog, was 
the father of the ill-nurtured children. He had felt 
a little uneasy as to the results of their raid upon 
our fruit, and had walked across the fields to give 
them the encouragement of his presence, or to 
cover their retreat, which he now did effectually. 

It took Junior but a moment to explain to my 
boy that they were no match " for the two brutes," 
as he expressed himself, adding: "The man is 
worse than the dog." 

Merton, however, was almost reckless from 
anger and a sense of unprovoked wrong, and he 
darted into the house for his gun. 

" See here, Merton," said Junior, firmly, " shoot 
the dog if they set him on us, but never fire at a 
human being. You 'd better give me the gun ; I 
am cooler than you are." 

They had no occasion to use the weapon, however. 
The man shook his fist at them, while his children 
indulged in taunts and coarse derision. The dog, 
sharing their spirit and not their discretion, started 
for the boys, but was recalled, and our undesirable 
neighbors departed leisurely. 

All this was related to me after night-fall, when I 
returned with my wife and younger children from 
the Maizeville landing. I confess that I fully shared 
Merton's anger, although I listened quietly. 

" You grow white, Robert, when you are angry," 
said my wife. " I suppose that 's the most 
dangerous kind of heat — white heat. Don't take 
the matter so to heart. We can't risk getting the 
ill-will of these ugly people. You know what Mr. 
Jones said about them." 

" This question shall be settled in twenty-four 
hours !" I replied. "That man and his family- 
are the pest of the neighborhood, and every one 
lives in a sort of abject dread of them. Now, the 
neighbors must say 'yes' or 'no' to the question 
whether we shall have decency, law, and order, or 
not. Merton, unharness the horse ! Junior, come 
with me ; I 'm going to see your father." 

I found Mr. Jones sleepy and about to retire, but 
his blue eyes were soon wide open, with an angry 
fire in them. 

"You take the matter very quietly, Mr. Dur- 
ham," he said ; " more quietly than I could." 

" 1 shall not fume about the affair a moment. 
I prefer to act. The only question for you and the 
other neighbors to decide is — will you act with me ? 
I am going to this man Bagley's house to-morrow, 
to give him his choice. It 's either decency and 
law-abiding on his part, now, or prosecution before 
the law on mine. You say that you are sure that 
he has burned barns, and made himself generally 
the terror of the region. Now, I wont live in a 
neighborhood infested by people little better than 
wild Indians. My feelings as a man will not permit 
me to submit to insult and injury. What 's more, 
it 's time the people about here abated this nui- 

" You arc right, Robert Durham ! " said Mr. 
Jones, springing up and giving me his hand. 
" I 've felt mean, and so have others, that we 've 
allowed ourselves to be run over by this rapscallion. 
If you go to-morrow, I '11 go with you, and so will 
Rollins. His hen-roost was robbed t' other night, 
and he tracked the thieves straight toward Bagley's 
house. He says his patience has given out. It 
only needs a leader to rouse the neighborhood, but 
it is n't very creditable to us that we let a new- 
comer like you face the thing first. 

" Very well," I said, "it's for you and your 
neighbors to show now how much grit and man- 
hood you have. I shall start for Bagley's house at 
nine, to-morrow. Of course I shall be glad to have 
company, and if he sees that the people will not 
stand any more of his rascality, he '11 be more apt to 
behave himself or else clear out." 

" He '11 have to do one or the other," said Mr. 
Jones grimly. "I '11 go right down to Rollins's. 
Come, Junior, we may want you." 

At eight o'clock the next morning, a dozen men, 
including the constable, were in our yard. My 
wife whispered : " Do be prudent, Robert." She 
was much re-assured, however, by the largeness of 
our force. 

We soon reached the dilapidated hovel, and 
were so fortunate as to find Bagley and all his 
family at home. Although it was the busiest 
season, he was idle. As I led my forces straight 
toward his door, it was evident that he was sur- 
prised and disconcerted, in spite of his attempt 
to maintain a sullen and defiant aspect. I saw 
his evil eye resting on one and another of our 
group, as if he were storing up grudges to be well 
paid on future dark nights. His eldest son stood 
with the dog at the corner of the house, and as 

75 2 



I approached, the cur, set on by the boy, came 
toward me with a stealthy step. I carried a heavy 
cane, and just as the brute was about to take me 
by the leg, I struck him a blow on the head that 
sent him howling away. 

The man, for a moment, acted almost as if he 
had been struck himself. His bloated visage be- 
came inflamed, and he sprang toward me. 

" Stop ! " I thundered. My neighbors closed 
around me, and he instinctively drew back. 

"Bagley," I cried, "look me in the eye." And 
he fixed upon me a gaze full of impotent anger. 
"Now," I resumed, " I wish you and your family 
to understand that you 've come to the end of your 
rope. You must become decent, law-abiding 
people, like the rest of us. or we shall put you 
where you can't harm us. I, for one, am go- 
ing to give you a last chance. Your children 
were stealing my fruit last night, and acting 
shamefully afterward. You also trespassed, and you 
threatened these two boys ; you are idle in the 
busiest time, and think you can live by plunder. 
Now, you and yours must turn the sharpest 
corner you ever saw-. Your two eldest children 
can come and pick berries for me at the usual 
wages, if they obey my orders and behave them- 
selves. One of the neighbors here says he '11 give 
you work, if you try to do it well. If you accept 
these terms, I '11 let the past go. If you don't, 
I '11 have the constable arrest your boy at once, 
and I '11 see that he gets the heaviest sentence the 
law allows, while if you or your children make any 
further trouble, I '11 meet you promptly in every- 
way the law permits. But, little as you deserve it. I 
am going to give you and your family one chance 
to reform, before proceeding against you. Only un- 
derstand one thing, I am not afraid of you. I 've 
had my say." 

" I have n't had mine," said Rollins, stepping 
forward excitedly. " You, or your scapegrace 
boy there, robbed my hen-roost the other night,, 
and you 've robbed it before. There is n't a man 
in this region but believes that it was you who 
burned the barns and hay-stacks. We wont stand 
this nonsense another hour. You 've got to come 
to my hay-fields and work out the price of those 
chickens, and after that I 11 give you fair wages. 
But if there 's any more trouble, we '11 clean you 
out as we would a family of weasels." 

" Yes, neighbor Bagley," added Mr. Jones, in 
his dry, caustic way. " think soberly. I hope you 
are sober. I 'm not one of the threatenin', barkin' 
sort, but I 've reached the p'int where I '11 bite. 
The law will protect us an' the hull neighbor- 
hood has resolved, with Mr. Durham here, that 
you and your children shall make no more trouble 
than he and his children. See ? " 

" Look-a-here," began the man, blusteringly, 
"you need n't come threatenin' in this blood-and- 
thunder style. The law '11 protect me as well 
as " 

Ominous murmurs were arising from all my 
neighbors, and Mr, Jcnes now came out strong. 

" Neighbors," he said, "keep cool. The time 
to act has n't come yet. See here, Bagley, it 's 
hayin' and harvest. Our time 's vallyble, wdiether 
yours is or not. You kin have just three minutes to 
decide whether you '11 take your oath to stop your 
maraudin' and that of your children ; " and he 
pulled out his watch. 

"Let me add my word," said a little man, 
stepping forward. " I own this house, and the 
rent is long overdue. Follow neighbor Jones's 
advice or we '11 see that the sheriff puts your traps 
out in the middle of the road." 

"Oh, of course," began Bagley. "What kin 
one feller do against a crowd ? " 

" Swar', as I told you," said Mr. Jones, sharply 
and emphatically. " What do you mean by 
hangin' fire so? Do you s'pose this is child's 
play and make-believe ? Don't ye know that 
when quiet, peaceable neighbors git riled up to 
our pitch, that they mean what they say ? Swar', 
as I said, and be mighty sudden about it." 

" Don't be a dunce," added his wife, who stood 
trembling behind him. "Can't you see?" 

" Very well, I swar' it," said the man, in some 

" Now, Bagley," said Mr. Jones, puttingback his 
watch, " we want to convert you thoroughly this 
mornin'. The first bit cf mischief that takes 
place in this borough will bring the weight of 
the law on you" ; and, wheeling on his heel, he 
left the yard, followed by the others. 

"Come in, Mr. Bagley," I said, " and bring the 
children. I want to talk with you all. Merton, 
you go home with Junior." 

" But, Papa " he objected. 

" Do as 1 bid you," I said, firmly, and I entered 
the squalid abode. 

The man and the children followed after me won- 
deringly. I sat down and looked the man steadily 
in the eye for a moment. 

"Let us settle one thing first," I began. "Do 
you think I am afraid of you ? " 

" S'pose not, with sich backin' as yer got," was 
the somewhat nervous reply. 

" I told Mr. Jones after I came home last night 
that I should fight this thing alone if no one stood 
by me. But you see that your neighbors have 
reached the limit of forbearance. Now, Mr. Bag- 
ley, I did n't remain to threaten you. There has 
been enough of that, and from very resolute, angry 
men, too. I wish to give you and yours a chance. 



You 've come to a place where two roads branch ; 
you must take one or the other. You can't help 
yourself. You and your children wont be allowed 
to steal or prowl about any more. That 's settled. 
If you go away and begin the same wretched life 

them up? — Take the road to the right. Do your 
level best, and I '11 help you. I '11 let bygones be 
bygones, and aid you in becoming a respectable 

" Oh, Hank, do be a man, now that Mr. Dur- 


elsewhere, you '11 soon reach the same result ; you 
and your son will be lodged in jail and put at hard 
labor. Would you not better make up your mind to 
work for yourself and family, like an honest man? 
Look at these children. How are you brin^in^ 
VOL. XII.— 48. 

ham gives you a chance," sobbed his wife; " you 
know we've been living badly." 

" That 's it, Bagley. These are the questions 
you must decide. If you '11 try to be a man, I '11 
give you my hand to stand by you. My religion, 




such as it is, requires that I shall not let a man go 
wrong if 1 can help it. If you '11 take the road 
to the right and do your level best, there 's my 

The man showed his emotion by a slight tremor 
only, and after a moment's thoughtful hesitation 
he took my hand and said in a hoarse, choking 
voice : " You 've got a claim on me now which all 
the rest could n't git, even if they put a rope 
around my neck. I s'pose I have lived like a brute, 
but I 've been treated like one, too." 

" If you '11 do as I say, I '11 guarantee that within 
six months you '11 be receiving all the kindness that 
a self-respecting man wants," I answered. Then 
turning to his wife, I asked : 

" What have you in the house to eat? " 

" Next to nothin'," she said, drying her eyes 
with her apron, and then throwing open their bare 

"' Put on your coat, Bagley, and come with me," 
I said. 

He and his wife began to be profuse with thanks. 

" No, no ! " I said, firmly. "I 'm not going to 
give you a penny's worth of anything while you are 
able to earn a living. You shall have food at 
once ; but I shall expect you to pay for it in work. 
I am going to treat you like a man and a woman, 
and not like beggars." 

A few minutes later, some of the neighbors were 
much surprised to see Bagley and myself going up 
the road together. 

My wife, Merton, and tender-hearted Mousie 
were at the head of the lane watching for me. 
Re-assured, as we approached, they returned won- 
deringly to the house, and met us at the door. 

" This is Mrs. Durham," I said. " My dear, 
please give Mr. Bagley ten pounds of flour and a 
piece of pork. After you 've had your dinner, 
Mr. Bagley, I shall expect you, as we 've agreed. 
And if you '11 chain up that dog of yours, or, bet- 
ter still, knock it on the head with an ax, Mrs. 
Durham will go down and see your wife about fix- 
ing up your children." 

Winifred gave me a pleased, intelligent look. 
and said, "Come in, Mr. Bagley"; while Mer- 
ton and I hastened away to catch up with neglected 

" Your husband 's been good to me," said the 
man abruptly. 

" That 's because he believes you are going to 
be good to yourself and your family," was her 
smiling reply. 

" Will you come and see my wife? " he asked. 

" Certainly, if I don't have to face your dog," 
replied Winifred. 

" I '11 kill the critter soon 's I go home," mut- 
tered Bagley. 

"It hardly pays to keep a big, useless dog," was 
my wife's practical comment. 

In going to the cellar for the meat, she left him 
alone for a moment or two with Mousie ; and he, 
under his new impulses, said : 

"Little gal, ef my children hurt your flowers 
ag'in, let me know, and I '11 thrash 'em ! " 

The child stole to his side and gave him her 
hand, as she replied : 

" Try being kind to them." 

Bagley went home with some new ideas under 
his tattered old hat. At half-past twelve he was 
on hand, ready for work. 

"That dog that tried to bite ye is dead and 
buried," he said, "and I hope I buried some of 
my dog natur' with 'im." 

" You 've shown your good sense. But I 
have n't time to talk now. The old man has 
mown a good deal of grass. I want you to 
shake it out and, as soon as he says it 's dry enough, 
to rake it up. Toward night I '11 be out with the 
wagon, and we '11 stow all that 's fit into the barn. 
To-morrow, I want your two eldest children to 
come and pick berries." 

" I 'm in fer it, Mr. Durham. You 've given 
me your hand, and I '11 show yer how that goes 
furder with me than all the blood-and-thunder 
talk in Maizeville," said Bagley, with some feel- 

" Then you '11 show that you can be a man like 
the rest of us," I said, as I hastened to our early 

My wife beamed and nodded at me. " I 'm 
not going to say anything to set you up too much," 
she said. "You are great on problems, and you 
are solving one even better than I hoped." 

"It isn't solved yet," I replied. "We have 
only started Bagley and his people on the right 
road. It will require much patience and good 
management to keep them there. I rather think 
you '11 have the hardest part of the problem yet 
on your hands. I have little time for problems 
now, however, except that of making the most of 
this season of rapid growth and harvest. I de- 
clare I 'm almost bewildered when I see how much 
there is to be done on every side. Children, we 
all must act like soldiers in the middle of a fight. 
Every stroke must tell. Now, we '11 hold a coun- 
cil of war, so as to make the most of the afternoon's 
work. Merton, how are the raspberries?" 

" There are more ripe, Papa, than I thought 
there would be." 

" Then, Winnie, you and Bobsey must leave the 
weeding in the garden and help Merton pick ber- 
ries, this afternoon." 

"As soon as it gets cooler," said my wife, 
" Mousie and I are going to pick, also." 

i88 S .| 



" Very well," I agreed. " You can give us 
raspberries and milk to-night, and so you will be 
getting supper at the same time. Until the hay is 
ready to come in, 1 shall continue hoeing in the 
garden, the weeds grow so rapidly. To-morrow 
will be a regular fruit day all around, for there 
are two more cherry-trees that need picking." 

Our short nooning over, we all went to our 
several tasks. The children were made to feel 
that now was the chance to win our bread for 
months to come, and that there must be no shirk- 
ing. Mousie promised to clear away the things 
while my wife, protected by a large sun-shade, 
walked slowly down to the Bagley cottage. Hav- 
ing seen that Merton and his little squad were fill- 
ing the baskets with strawberries properly, I went 
to the garden and slaughtered the weeds where 
they threatened to do the most harm. 

At last I became so hot and wearied that I 
thought I M visit a distant part of the upland 
meadow, and see how Bagley was progressing. 
He was raking manfully, and had accomplished a 
fair amount of work, but it was evident that he 
was almost exhausted. He was not accustomed to 
hard work, and had rendered himself still more 
unfit for it by dissipation. 

"See here, Bagley," I said, "you are doing 
well, but you will have to break yourself into har- 
ness gradually. I don't wish to be hard upon you. 
Lie down under this tree for half an hour and by 
that time I shall be out with the wagon." 

"Mr. Durham, you have the feelin's of a man 
for a feller," said Bagley, gratefully. " 1 '11 make 
up the time arter it gets cooler." 

Returning to the raspberry patch, I found Bob- 
sex- almost asleep, the berries often falling from 
his nerveless hands. Merton, meanwhile, with 
something of the spirit of a martinet, was spurring 
him to his task. 1 remembered that the little 
fellow had been busy since breakfast, and decided 
that he also, of my forces, should have a rest. 
He started up when he saw me coming through 
the bushes, and tried to pick with vigor again. 
As I took him up in my arms, he began appre- 
hensively : 

" Papa. 1 will pick faster, but 1 'm so tired." 

1 re -assured him with a kiss which left a decided 
raspberry flavor on my lips, carried him into the 
barn and, tossing him on a heap of hay, said : 

" Sleep there, my little man, till you are rested." 

He was soon snoring blissfully, and when I 
reached the meadow with the wagon, Bagley was 
ready to help with the loading. 

" Well, well ! " he exclaimed, " a little breathin'- 
spell does do a feller good on a hot day." 

" No doubt about it," I said. " So long as you 
are on the right road, it does no harm to sit down 

a bit, because when you start again, it 's in the right 

After we had piled on as much of a load as the 
rude, extemporized rack on my market wagon could 
hold, I added: 

" You need n't go to the barn with me, for I 
can pitch the hay into the mow. Rake up another 
load, if you feel able." 

"Oh, I 'm all right, now," he protested. 

By the time I had unloaded the grass. I found 
that my wife and Mousie were among the rasp- 
berries, and that the number of full, fragrant, little 
baskets was increasing rapidly. 

" Winifred, is n't this work, with your walk to 
the Bagley cottage, too much for you ?" 

" Oh, no," she replied, lightly. " An afternoon 
in idleness in a stifling city flat would have been 
more exhausting. It 's growing cool now. What 
wretched, shiftless people those Bagleys are ! But 
I have hopes for them. 1 'm glad Bobsey 's having 
a nap." 

" You shall tell me about your visit to-night. 
We are making good progress. Bagley is doing 
his best. Winnie," I called, "come here." 

She brought her basket, nearly filled, and I saw 
that her eyes were heavy with weariness also. 

" You 've done well to-day, my child. Now go 
and look after your chickens, big and little. Then 
your day's work is done, and you can do what you 
please ; " and I started for the meadow again. 

By six o'clock, we had in the barn three loads of 
hay, and Merton had packed four crates of berries 
ready for market. Bobsey was now running about, 
as lively as a cricket, and Winnie, with a child's 
elasticity, was nearly as sportive. Bagley, after 
making up his half hour, came up the lane with 
a rake, instead of his ugly dog as on the evening 
before. A few moments later, he helped me lift 
the crates into the market wagon ; and then, after 
a little awkward hesitation, began : 

" I say, Mr. Durham, can't ye give a feller a 
job yerself? I declar' to you, 1 want to brace up; 
but I know how it '11 be down at Rollins's. He '11 
be savage as a meat-ax to me, and his men will be 
a-gibin'. Give me a job yerself, and I '11 save 
enough out o' my wages to pay for his chickens, 
or you kin' keep 'nuff back to pay for 'em." 

I thought a moment, and then said promptly : 
"I '11 agree to this if Rollins will. 1 '11 see him 

" Did yer wife go to see my wife ? " 

"Yes, and she says she has hopes for you all. 
You 've earned your bread to-day as honestly as I 
have, and you 've more than paid for what my wife 
gave you this morning. Here 's a quarter to make 
the day square, and here 's a couple of baskets of 
raspberries left over. Take them to the children." 




" Well, yer bring me right to the mark," he said, 
emphasizing his words with a slap on his thigh. 
" I Ye got an uphill row to hoe, and it 's good ter 
have some human critters around that '11 help a 
feller a bit." 

I laughed as I clapped him on the shoulder, and 
said: "You 're going to win the fight, Bagley. 
I '11 see Rollins at once, for I find I shall need 
another man awhile." 

" Give me the job, then," he said, eagerly, 
" and give me what you think I 'm wuth," and he 
jogged off home with that leaven of all good in 
his heart — the hope of better things. 

Raspberries and milk, with bread and butter 
and a cup of tea, made a supper that we all 
relished, and then Merton and I started for the 
boat-landing. I let the boy drive and deliver 
the crates to the freight agent, for I wished him to 
relieve me in this task occasionally. On our way 
to the landing I saw Rollins, who readily agreed 
to Bagley's wish, on condition that I guaranteed 
payment for the chickens. Stopping at the man's 
cottage farther on, I told him this, and he, in his 
emphatic way, declared : 

" I vow ter you, Mr. Durham, ye sha'n't lose a 
feather's worth o' the chickens." 

Returning home, poor Merton was so tired 
and drowsy that he nearly fell off the seat. Be- 
fore long I took the reins from his hands, and he 
was asleep with his head on my shoulder. Wini- 
fred was dozing in her chair, but brightened up as 
we came in. A little judicious praise and a bowl 
of bread and milk strengthened the boy wonder- 
fully. He saw the need of especial effort at this 
time, and also saw that he was not being driven 

As I sat alone with my wife, resting a few 
minutes before retiring, I said : 

" Well, Winifred, it must be plain to you by this 
time that the summer campaign will be a hard 
one. How are we going to stand it ? " 

'•I '11 tell you next fall," she replied, with a 
laugh. " No problems to-night, thank you." 

"I'm gathering a queer lot of helpers in my 
effort to live in the country," 1 continued. 
" There 's old Mr. Ferguson, who is too aged to 
hold his own in other harvest-fields. Bagley and 
his tribe " 

" And a city wife and a lot of city children," she 

"And a city green-horn of a man at the head 
of you all," I concluded. 

" Well," she replied, rising with an odd little 
blending of laugh and yawn, " I 'm not afraid but 
that we shall all earn our salt." 

Thus came to an end the long, eventful day, 
which prepared the way for many others of similar 

character, and suggested many of the conditions 
of our problem of country living. 

Bagley appeared bright and early the following 
morning with his two elder children, and I was 
now confronted with the task of managing them 
and making them useful. Upon one thing I was 
certainly resolved — there should be no Quixotic 
sentiment in our relations, and no companionship 
between his children and mine. Therefore. I took 
him and his girl and boy aside, and said : 

" I 'm going to be simple and outspoken with 
you. Some of my neighbors think I 'm a fool 
because I give you work when I can get others. I 
shall prove that I am not a fool, for the reason that 
I shall not permit any nonsense, and you can show 
that I am not a fool by doing your work well and 
quietly. Bagley, I want you to understand that 
your children do not come here to play with mine. 
No matter whom I employed, I should keep my 
children by themselves. Now, do you understand 

They nodded affirmatively. 

" Are you all willing to take simple, straight- 
forward directions, and do your best ? I 'm not 
asking what is unreasonable, for I shall not be 
more strict with you than with my own children." 

"No use o' beatin' around the bush, Mr. Dur- 
ham," said Bagley, good-naturedly; "we 've come 
here to 'arn our livin', and to do as you say." 

" I can get along wit